Aftermath: Twist of Fate
by A. X. Zanier
Summary: The Invisible Man Altiverse Don't care for AU fics? Then look elsewhere 'cause this is AU all the way.
1. Chapter 1

Welcome to the Invisible Man Altiverse  
  
Author: A. X. Zanier  
Title: Aftermath: Twist of Fate (Original post of Aftermath Version 2.0 on 12/11/2000 @ Yahoogroups/IMFanfic)   
Rating: R (Language, adult situations)  
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or basic story ideas to "The Invisible Man." Any additional characters or ideas are mine.   
Timeline: Follows the fics "In the Beginning" and "Deceptions"   
Category: Drama/Romance (and a wee bit of angst)   
Spoiler: I blatantly steal from any and every ep I think will be of use.   
Comment: This is a major revision of one of my older fics that takes into account Season 2 of the show.  
  
Thanks, once again, to Rebecca(WorkerCaste) for being one hell of a Beta/Editor for me.  
  
Aftermath: Twist of Fate  
  
  
// "Every person has free choice. Free to obey or disobey the Natural Laws. Your choice determines the consequences. Nobody ever did, or ever will, escape the consequences of his choices." --- Alfred A. Montapert  
  
The problem is, when dealing with mankind, especially in the form of scientists or the government, those 'laws' have this awful tendency to get broken. And the consequences are often left to be dealt with by the poor schmucks those laws were broken on. Trust me, I know. //  
  
  
White. All-pervasive white. The walls, the floor, the bed-like thing in the center of the room -- hell, even the stitching was done in institutional white. They had even encased the resident of the room in white. A set of white scrubs and nifty jacket with wrap around arms. The jacket did have an interesting set of accessories in the form of leather straps and metal buckles. There was only one spot of color in the entire room.  
  
Her hair.  
  
"Crap, Alyx, if I had known they were going to do this, I wouldn't have left you alone," Darien muttered to himself. He stared through the glass that looked into the padded room, gazing at the rather helpless and fragile form that was Alyx. When he'd left the previous evening, Alyx had been lying on a gurney down in the Keep, while Claire checked her over and removed the IV drip that had kept her unconscious during the plane flight home from Cabo San Lucas.  
  
Claire had ordered him to go home and get a few hours sleep, which, admittedly, he had needed. He had been bruised and battered from their adventure and the subsequent destruction of Arnaud's little hideaway in the mountains of Cabo. The physical injuries would heal with very little worry. It was the emotional ones that might take a bit longer. Alyx had... had... And with, of all people... He still had trouble wrapping him mind around it.  
  
"It wasn't you, Alyx. You'd never to that to me."  
  
He hoped that if he kept telling himself that, kept reminding himself that Heilburg had screwed up her head -- had implanted not just one, but several personalities into her mind -- and that the Swiss Miss son of a bitch had then manipulated her even beyond that, that he would be able to forgive her. To know that the ache in his heart was a temporary condition and that she really cared about him. That when she woke up and he looked into her eyes, he'd see her and not the stranger he'd been dealing with for the last few weeks.  
  
He closed his eyes for a moment and leaned against the glass before him. The image of her curled up in the far corner of the room, her hair, pulled back into a braid, the only real splash of color against the monotone uniformity of the rest of the room, was burned into his mind. Closing his eyes didn't truly cut off the view.  
  
Opening his eyes, he couldn't help but see that she was twitching and shivering in her drug-induced slumber, just like always. They'd learned a long time ago that she not only adapted to some drugs quickly, but that she also fought them even as they acted upon her. Even going into this willingly, her body still made its own choices and went its own way. He could only hope she'd wake up soon. Hope she'd wake up herself and not a stranger.  
  
The door to the padded room opened and he watched as Claire and a man Darien had never seen before walked in. The sound was currently turned off, so Darien didn't hear any of their short conversation before Claire left the room, to appear seconds later in the viewing room with him.  
  
"Darien, you shouldn't be here." Claire moved beside him and flipped on both the sound and the mic.  
  
Turning slightly to face her, he couldn't help but notice how tired she looked. "I have to be."  
  
"This isn't going to be pleasant to watch." She was hoping to persuade him to leave, but knew it was a faint hope at best. He hadn't left when Bobby had ended up in a similar situation, and he wasn't likely to abandon Alyx to her fate. Whatever it may yet turn out to be.  
  
"I figured that. Who's he?" Darien motioned with his chin at the stranger, who was sitting on the bed and looking at Alyx with an intensity that was startling.  
  
"Someone who I hope can help," Claire answered, with only about half her attention on Darien. The two in the room before her were her primary focus.  
  
Alyx had begun to stir in such a way that suggested she was finally coming around, and the man pulled up his legs to sit cross-legged, his attention solely on the small woman before him. With one of her more colorful curses -- in Italian -- Alyx adroitly shifted and sat up. She hated the feeling after being drugged to sleep. Like the world was surrounded by big fluffy cotton balls. It always took way too long to refocus.  
  
"Easy, little one," a soft voice said from nearby, causing her to go completely still in shock. A voice that she hadn't heard in a seeming eternity. A voice that brought memories of pain and heartache surging to the surface. Memories of events she had yet to forgive herself for.  
  
Her eyes snapped open and for a long moment she stared at the... figure before her. She knew it had to be a hallucination, created by either her drug-fogged mind or by the myriad personalities and emotional distortions roiling through her. Maybe even a bit of both. She closed her eyes and shook her head, trying to keep herself stable, to keep herself focused on one persona, on one 'her.' When she reopened her eyes after gaining a momentary stability, he still sat before her. "I think I'm seriously insane."  
  
He laughed softly. "No. Not yet."  
  
Reaching out with her mind, she encountered the reality. He was here, now. His laughter, his presence, both physical and mental, real.  
  
*Do you believe now? Do these senses tell you a truth you will believe?* His voice rolled through her mind, but instead of calming her as it once had, instead of comforting, easing the pain and discomfort she had been forced to endure, it only angered her. Where had he been when she really needed him? Where had he been for the last year? Where had he been when she destroyed everything, when they had forced her hand, when they blackmailed her to work for them?  
  
"You left me," she snarled, her face becoming a hate-filled mask. "You abandoned me to those bastards."  
  
"Alyx," he tried, but she cut him off with a bark of harsh laughter.  
  
"Don't you mean QSX053? That's all I was -- a number, a project. 'Get something useful out of the money we spent on her.'" Her voice rose as she spoke until she was shouting. "Or have you forgotten?"  
  
"I'll never forget," he stated quietly, sadly. "At the time, it was all I could do. I had hoped that without me they would not try the experiments." He spread his hands as a gesture of remorse. "I was wrong."  
  
"Wrong. You were wrong." With very little effort, she got to her feet. "You left, and I destroyed the place. I killed dozens of people because of what they did, and because I had no one to help me." She stalked towards him, no longer looking helpless and fragile. "And now... Now I get the joy of losing myself to the wonderful variety of personalities that Heilburg was thoughtful enough to bestow upon me. Make me more useful to the Agency if they can control who I am. Can pick and choose which 'me' would be most useful on a particular mission." She stood before him, glaring down with rage in her eyes. "Just leave."  
  
"You know it's only going to get worse, don't you? The stabilizing drug has nearly worn off and you still have to go through withdrawal from the neurotransmitter enhancer." He got to his feet, forcing her to back away a half step and looked down at her. "Let me help you."  
  
"And how exactly would you do that? Run away just when I need you most? I don't need that kind of help." The sound of a straitjacket tearing itself apart was startlingly loud in the silence of the room, and she shrugged the pieces to the floor without thinking. "Do you need me to open the door for you, or should I just throw you through it?" Her eyes flared for an instant with a blue-white light that warned him her temper was gone, her anger at such a peak she could and would do serious harm, perhaps even kill, with very little effort or thought, and no remorse.  
  
He backed away from her, edging around the bed towards the door, which was opened from the outside. But he held her gaze the entire time, kept himself calm and showed no fear of her. "I'll be nearby if you need me," he said, just before the door shut to cut off her view of him.  
  
As soon as the door had shut, Alyx flung her hands up, let out a screech of pure rage, and let fly with several small surges of power, frying both the audio and video systems for the room. Then she retreated to the one corner of the room that could not be easily seen by those on the far side of the glass.  
  
  
  
He walked slowly into the viewing room, rubbing his forehead and looking distressed. "I wasn't quite sure what to expect, even after your description, but it wasn't that." He leaned against the wall and looked out into the padded room, noting the remains of the straightjacket lying on the floor. She had shredded it into at least half a dozen pieces.  
  
"I tried to warn you. Heilburg completely scrambled her psyche," Claire said with a tired sigh. "When she woke up earlier...." She paused and shook her head. "I had to tranq her. She took out three agents while trying to escape."  
  
"You have no idea. You only see the exterior effects. She is so very lost inside herself. I'm surprised she's able to maintain control over her other abilities." He pushed away from the wall and began to pace the length of the small room.  
  
"Well, she is the most stubborn person I have ever met," Darien commented as he watched this stranger worry over Alyx the same way he was.  
  
The stranger chuckled and paused in his attempts to wear a pathway into the floor, looking over at Darien. "You have no idea."  
  
Darien looked over the man before him, trying to garner some sense of who he was and what exactly he was doing here. He had dark hair that was nearly black, cut short and neat. He stood a few inches shorter than Darien himself, about six foot, and was built a bit heavier. In good shape though, that much was obvious simply by the way he moved. He was in his early to mid thirties at a guess. It was his eyes, though, that were his most startling feature. One was a hazel, with brilliant gold and green striations running through it; the other was half blue, that bright blue of a southern California day, and the other half a brilliant green, the color of new leaves. In many ways, they were as surprising as Alyx's silver eyes. In fact, the guy himself kind of reminded Darien of Alyx, though he wasn't quite sure why.  
  
"And who exactly are you?" Darien asked him as he pushed himself away from the window and moved to stand directly before him.  
  
"Now may not be the best time for this," Claire interjected, moving to stand between the two men. The last thing she needed was for these two to get in to a territorial battle over Alyx.  
  
"No. It's all right, Claire," he said as he broke his gaze from Darien's to look at her. Then he met Darien's eyes again. "I'm Michael. I was her Keeper." He paused to let that statement sink in. "You must be Darien. For all her confusion, you are still very prominent in her mind. You and a snake, for some reason." He shook his head with a small smile. "She was always a little weird."  
  
Darien unconsciously rubbed the monitor tattoo on his wrist, a slightly stunned look on his face. "You're like her? A telepath?"  
  
"You catch on quick. You were right about that, Claire." His focus turned inward for a moment as he checked on Alyx, who was still fuming in the next room. "Can we risk drugging her with the stabilizer again? She needs to be coherent for a while, before she goes into withdrawal, and we are quickly running out of time." He wasn't ignoring Darien's question, just putting off answering for a moment.  
  
"She's that far already?" Claire asked in concern. They had hoped she'd been able to hold it together on her own for a time.  
  
"I'm afraid so." He nodded and moved back to the window.  
  
"Then we have no choice," Claire said with a sigh. "Damn it, I could kill this Heilburg myself for doing this to her."  
  
"It's not your fault, Claire. Even I didn't know he'd done more than just set up the Pattern programming." He moved to the door. "I'll get the equipment and be back in a few minutes."  
  
Once he was gone, Darien stepped in front of Claire so that she was forced to look at him. "Why do I have the feeling he's more than just her Keeper?"  
  
"Because you have a suspicious mind?" she replied, in a vain attempt to deflect his attention away from Michael. She realized quickly he wasn't going to be put off and decided this time the truth might be the way to go. "Because you'd be right. He is more than just her Keeper."  
  
Darien sighed and ran a hand through his hair. As usual, there was one hell of a shoe about to drop, right on top of his head. Living under the Sword of Damocles was never easy. "Just don't tell me he's her husband, or something equally as awkward."  
  
Claire burst out laughing at the dread in his voice. "Oh no. Definitely not her husband."  
  
Darien was getting quite frustrated with the runaround he was getting, even though by now he should have come to expect it even for the simplest of questions. "Claire, what is going on?"  
  
"Darien, Michael is her brother."  
  
Darien shook his head, convinced that his hearing must be going or something, because he could not believe what he had just heard. "Okay, I must have heard that wrong. I thought you said he was her brother."  
  
"I did." Claire was amused by Darien's reaction and did her best to keep a straight face. She could imagine how he was feeling at the moment. Her initial reaction to the revelation had been similar. You'd figure by now they'd be used to the sometimes convoluted associations that seemed to occur at the Agency.  
  
"But she's told me a bit about her Keeper. She never even knew his name." In fact, until recently Alyx had not even known that he'd been her Keeper. She had called him her teacher, since he'd been the one who taught her how to gain control over her abilities, and how to shield, to create that wall in her mind that kept out most of the voices and emotions of others.  
  
"Quite true. At the time, he was the only person capable of helping her. So they altered her memory a bit," Claire explained with a touch of discomfort in her voice.  
  
"That doesn't make any sense; I know she remembers her brothers. She's told me a bit about them." Darien went back to the window, but Alyx was still out of sight.  
  
"Darien, what is the best way to tell an elaborate lie?" Claire asked, seemingly out of the blue.  
  
"Use just enough of the truth.... Damn, they made her forget him so he could help her. Fogged her memory just enough that she wouldn't recognize him," Darien said, the reality of the situation sinking in. "They've abused her from the start."  
  
"Yes. They have," Michael said as he entered the room. He was carrying a tray with several items on it, including a syringe.  
  
"I'm sorry Michael, but Darien is as stubborn as she is. I hope this won't be a problem," Claire apologized as she took the tray and set it down on the ledge and looked over the items.  
  
"It shouldn't. I could walk in that room and tell her who I am, and she wouldn't believe me." He leaned against the wall near Claire and tried to see Alyx. From his position, he could just glimpse her sock-clad toes as she remained sitting in the corner of the room. "You might as well tell him everything. I have a feeling things will go faster if he understands."  
  
"You're sure?" At his nod, Claire turned back to Darien. "You may remember that only five of the original QSX group survived to adulthood."  
  
Darien nodded. "One guy and the rest...." He looked at Michael. "You."  
  
"Me. I was part of the QSX project as well. I'm Alyx's twin brother," Michael told him, knowing that Darien's reaction to this news would set the tone for their association.  
  
"Oh, crap," was Darien's enlightened comment.  
  
Michael turned to Claire. "He says that a lot, I'm guessing." But he was relieved that his reaction was so simply summed up by the words. It told Michael a lot about who Darien was.  
  
"Quite," Claire agreed with a grin.  
  
"Darien, it's not a big deal. Yes, I was part of the original project, and yes, I developed a few gifts as well. Luckily I was already working for the government when they decided to go ahead with Phase II -- made me unavailable for the project." Michael felt the man's confusion ease. "My gift is no more than an extension of what she and I shared as kids."  
  
"What exactly can you do?" Darien asked him, truly curious. He'd thought Alyx was one-of-a-kind. To learn not only that she had a twin brother -- which explained why Michael's looks had been bothering him -- but that he was gifted as well, once again dumped his world view on its proverbial ass.  
  
"I'm a telepath and, to a small degree, an empath," Michael answered truthfully. The fact that Darien was accepting this new information with little or no surprise would make things much easier. "You do realize Alyx is not?"  
  
"We know," Claire answered for both of them. "What did you mean about when you were kids?"  
  
"You know the old saw that twins share a unique connection and can be telepathic with each other?" They both nodded. "Well, I don't know about others, but she and I were. It changed as we got older, but we always knew how the other felt. The year we turned thirteen was horrible -- both of our abilities kicked in. I got voices beyond hers, and she got the migraines from hell and spent that entire summer destroying every piece of electronics in the house." He closed his eyes. "I hope I can help her now."  
  
"And we need to do something soon. She'll be in withdrawal within a few hours at most," Claire commented needlessly. This was something all three of them knew.  
  
"Sooner -- she's nearly there now, and she has decisions to make." Michael turned away from the all-white room and faced Darien. Michael suspected Darien was not going to like this much at all.  
  
"Decisions?" Darien asked.  
  
"How she wants to proceed. We have a few options. We could use Heilburg's Level 1 process, which does work, and give her a stable personality. We could let her fight her way through and develop her own. Or..." Michael left them hanging intentionally.  
  
"Or what?" Claire asked taking the bait.  
  
"Or she could leave the Agency and finish her life," Michael answered.  
  
  
  
Alyx pulled her legs in closer to her body and hugged them tightly. She'd been trying, really trying to keep hold of herself, trying to ground and center, but it wasn't her shielding that was the problem. Ground and center did nothing for the swirling confusion her mind had become. That control was just fine. 'Who' was in control was the problem. She could feel at least six more or less artificial personas vying for control within her, and along with those was the amalgam persona that had come about under Arnaud's persuasive tutelage. Then there was the one from before coming to the Agency, the one who had become so good at hiding, so distrusting of everyone and everything, the one who had learned to take a beating, which may or may not have included another round of rape, and still see to it the kids made it to school in the morning with a smile upon her face. And finally there was the woman she'd become since joining the Agency, since learning she could trust again, could be herself again, could be happy and free again even as she became a stranger to herself. Who had betrayed her friends and co-workers, who had betrayed Darien with his most hated enemy.  
  
Getting to her feet with a stifled whimper, she began to pace the room. Tried to ignore the competing identities that tugged her indifferent directions -- some wanting to hide, to defend, others to run, to force her way out of this room, out of this life. Catching her reflection in the mirror, she paused and stared at it. So very deceiving, so innocent and sweet-looking, yet capable of such destruction, such easy deception. One persona surged to the fore. Deceiving. She'd fooled everyone. Gotten the Official to willingly give up all the information Heilburg wanted for Arnaud. Convinced Arnaud that her plan was the better one, to lure and use Darien instead of killing him for the gland. To buy the time she needed to find the solution -- which she had failed at, since not even Arnaud had the necessary information to remove the gland even though she had convinced him he did. Used persuasion and Darien's feelings for her to get him to not only come to work for Arnaud but to find the computer center, buried in the mountain stronghold.  
  
Then had her mind begin to fall apart, to shatter into the myriad people Heilburg had tried to make of her.  
  
Anger flared again, her emotions twisting and shifting along with her personality. "Why? Damn it, why do this to me?" Fighting herself, part of her knowing she dared not leave this room, while the rest demanded she try to escape, she settled for simply shredding the padding of the walls with her mind. Long tears from ceiling to floor that sounded so very loud in the room, stuffing oozing out of the rents to fall to the cushioned floor. Glaring at those she knew to be on the far side of the mirror, she shouted, "Do something, damn it, before I do!"  
  
Stalking away she moved back to the corner and forced herself to sit, to stay in control.  
  
  
  
"Damn." Darien muttered as the three of them looked at the mess she'd made.  
  
"And that was just the minimal amount of release she'd allow herself," Michael commented as his eyes opened. "She's got some control for the moment, but it won't last for much longer. We're swiftly running out of time."  
  
Darien found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the sight before him. "What did you mean by 'finish her life'?"  
  
"Exactly what I said." Michael turned to observe Darien in profile, as well as Claire who stood just beyond him. "You both know she wasn't a volunteer for this. She has four children who miss her and need her. Yes, the Agency has promised to keep them safe, but..." Michael stopped. He had no idea how much either of them knew about her life before coming here, how much she had found the courage to talk about, how much she had allowed herself to forget. "I agreed to help only if she was given the option to go home."  
  
"Home? This is her home." Darien turned to face Michael, this stranger who claimed to know Alyx better than he did, and suddenly realized, heart sinking to his shoes, that he might very well be right. She had stayed up until now to see that her kids were protected, because she believed she would be unable to protect herself and them from those that would surely come after her. Alyx wanted no part of more agencies knowing her children might very well grow up to be even more powerful than she. "But her family thinks she's dead," he finally said in a tone of resignation.  
  
"Remember Gloria?" Claire placed a hand on his shoulder. "It can be dealt with."  
  
Darien nodded slowly. "All right, how?"  
  
"We use Heilburg's Level I technique and we rebuild her. Recreate the person she was before she came here. Make her forget about all of this," Michael answered. "We'll concoct some viable story, but in the end she goes home. She'll wake up and pick up her life, just two years later." He turned to look back into the room where Alyx was once again pacing back and forth, her feet kicking up the stuffing and fluff from the walls as she moved.  
  
"What about her powers? Going quicksilver in front of the in-laws would be bad," Darien asked, sounding surprisingly calm.  
  
Claire moved around to face Darien. "Drugs. Inhibitors to keep them from working. We already have them. We just tell her they're for something else."  
  
"It's a moot point right now. Someone has to ask her first," Michael said, looking right into Darien's eyes.  
  
"I'll do it," Darien said in a quiet voice.  
  
"What?" Claire asked in astonishment. She had assumed he would be the person most likely to hate this idea.  
  
"I'll do it," he repeated. He was still facing Michael, meeting his eyes and somehow knowing he'd understand.  
  
"You have the most to possibly lose in this," Michael said to him. Giving him an out.  
  
"Not really. She does." Darien looked out the glass to watch Alyx pace stiffly back and forth in the room, one hand pressed to her forehead. "Most of the time she's been here, she's searched for a way to get me out of this place. To gain me the freedom to make my own choices about the Agency, about the gland. Can I do any less for her?"  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 


	2. Chapter 2

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
When Darien entered the room and the door shut behind him with a dull thud, he had a flashback to the first time he met Alyx. Only that time, it had been him about to go off the deep end, and she had managed to save the both of them from himself. Now it was time to return the favor, he supposed.  
  
Alyx spun at the sound of the door and saw him standing there. She'd known he was coming, couldn't help but know since he was always there in the back of her head. "What do you want?" she snapped. "Come to view the show up close?" Closing her eyes, she stumbled backwards until she was against the wall. Taking a deep breath, she forced control back on her mind, allowed the mental image he held of her in his mind and heart to guide her. "Sorry."  
  
"No prob. Been there myself a few times." He kept it light, not wanting show how very worried he was for her, how very upset he still was about what had happened. "We need to talk."  
  
"About?" She didn't mean to be short with him, but the simpler the better right now.  
  
"You. How you want to deal with this?" Darien moved towards her, hoping to give her what help he could.  
  
She held up a hand that shook uncontrollably. "Don't. I'm barely in control."  
  
Darien stopped and settled down on the bed in the middle of the room. "Look, we all know you're about to hit withdrawal. They need you coherent."  
  
"So?" She forced herself to relax and leaned against the torn wall in an attempt to appear casual.  
  
"They want to give you another shot of the stabilizer. They need you to make some decisions and it has to be done now." Darien looked down at his hands where they lay draped across his legs, the fingers dangling between his knees.  
  
"What kind of decisions?" Alyx found herself moving to him, feeling his unease and wanting to help him.  
  
"Not until you're back in control. Sorry." He lifted his head to look at her and she stopped just out of his reach. He could see the war going on within her on her face and in her eyes. The persona she finally settled on was not one of the nicer ones.  
  
"Gee, more blackmail. What a surprise?" Alyx began with her voice quiet. "Why should I trust you? Any of you? How do I know you're not just going to knock me out and perform some new and more interesting torture on me?" Her voice rose with each word until she was nearly screaming.  
  
"You don't I guess." Darien got to his feet walked right up to her; she tried to dodge away, but he simply grabbed her by the arm and spun her about to face him. Good thing, it turned out, as her legs chose that moment to no longer hold her up. Helping her down to the padded floor, he could feel her whole body shaking as the withdrawal began to take over. "Alyx, c'mon. It's me. I walked into the lion's den for you. I'm just asking you to let us help."  
  
She closed her eyes for a long moment and allowed him to draw her closer, to wrap his arms about her, and hold her. "Will you stay?" Her voice was muffled against his chest.  
  
"Of course." Darien tipped her head up so she could see him. "You think I trust them?"  
  
Alyx actually managed a shaky laugh. "All right." She slumped against him, one emotion becoming far stronger than the rest. "I'm sorry, Dare."  
  
"I know. Don't worry about it now." He didn't bother looking up when he heard the door open. He knew who it would be.  
  
Both Claire and Michael crouched down next to the couple, everything they needed already prepared. "Damn it, Alyx, next time tell us how bad off you are," Claire complained as she wrapped the rubber tourniquet about Alyx's arm.  
  
"It's going to be close," Michael added needlessly.  
  
"Hold her still if you can, Darien." Claire had the syringe ready and waited for Darien to wrap his arms more firmly about her for support. "This is a new version, Alyx. Less side effects, I hope."  
  
"Just do it," Alyx snapped, swiftly losing what little control she had managed to achieve with Darien's aid. "Before I change my mind and toss the lot of you through the ceiling."  
  
While Michael held her arm still, Claire injected the contents of the syringe into her arm. "This isn't going to help the withdrawal any. You need to concentrate and hold it off for as long as possible. I can't help you, not this time." He held her hand for a moment, trying to feel if the drug was working.  
  
"Gotcha," Alyx mumbled. Her eyes slid shut, both because of the drug and so that she could concentrate. She mentally oriented herself, pushing aside all that she felt was not her, locking it away for the duration of the drug's assistance.  
  
Claire watched her carefully for any adverse reactions. Michael did the same from the inside. He could feel it when she settled, the drug assisting her finding stability within her own mind.  
  
When she opened her eyes, they no longer had that dangerous look that had been there. She tried to sit up and Darien helped her. She was still shivering, but not as badly.  
  
Claire stood. "I'm going to get some blankets. I'll be right back." Within moments she had returned and they wrapped Alyx up, trying to convince her body temperature to come back up. "We'll leave. Darien will explain everything." Both Claire and Michael got to their feet and turned to leave the room.  
  
"Keep?" Alyx wasn't quite sure what she was going to say, but needed to try while she still could.  
  
"Yes?" Both turned at her voice. Claire figured out right quick who Alyx meant and gave Michael a pat on the shoulder before leaving.  
  
"I'm sorry," Alyx said to him. "I shouldn't have said those things. I didn't mean to. I..."  
  
"Stop it. You said only what you felt. And I can understand those feelings. If you must apologize, do it later," he said to her. "You have no time to waste."  
  
She nodded to him and he walked out the door, letting it shut behind him. Darien pulled her close again, adding his warmth to that of the blankets, resting his chin atop her head as was his habit. This was going to be harder than he thought. He didn't want to lose her again, but he had to give her the choice.  
  
"All right, I volunteered to give you the information. They looked kind of chicken and each of them is biased in their own way," Darien said, trying to keep his tone light.  
  
"Spill. I'd like to get on with the shaking and the sweating sometime in the next hour or so," Alyx commented with shaky laughter. She could tell this was not as easy for him as he tried to make it out to be.  
  
"You've got some choices, and, yes, the Official knows about them. Your Keep forced his hand." He was stalling and he knew it. "First choice: you can stay with the Agency and they will do whatever is necessary to put you back together."  
  
"They'd better; they did this to me," she growled. "Or?"  
  
"Or you can go home," Darien told her.  
  
"What do you mean 'go home'?" Alyx mumbled, her voice barely audible.  
  
"Home. You know, back to your kids, your husband, your family. That home," Darien answered, amazed at how calm he was.  
  
"Not possible. I'm dead to them."  
  
"Can be worked around," he whispered in her ear. "They've done it before."  
  
"My powers..." she began, and then answered her own question. "Drugs. Inhibitors. For the rest of my life."  
  
He nodded in agreement.  
  
"But what about you?" Alyx asked, shifting a bit to see his face. She wanted to see him, to make sure this was real and not some cruel new twist in her confused mind.  
  
He answered her with a question. "If I told you tomorrow they could remove the gland, that I'd be out of here in a month max, what would you tell me to do?"  
  
"Go for it. Get the hell out of Dodge. Get a real life," Alyx answered without a second's hesitation.  
  
"I'm telling you the same."  
  
"Ah hell, Darien. I never thought this could happen. I could be with my kids again. Actually watch them grow up. Be there for them." Alyx was feeling a bit stunned.  
  
"All of it," Darien agreed.  
  
"But the Agency?"  
  
"My understanding, limited as it is, is that you would remember nothing about it. Apparently some of Heilburg's programming works without problems." Darien pulled her close, cupping her face in his hands.  
  
"The Level 1." Alyx brought her hands up to rest upon his, needing the contact. "So they restore my old personality and plop me back into my old life two years later. And baby-sit me for the rest of my life."  
  
"Probably. The drugs aren't all that common, after all," Darien agreed with her. He knew she was going. Escaping. And he didn't blame her one bit. There had been a time when she'd ached for just this chance, but she had given up on that dream long ago and settled for new ones. Much as he had done. He knew if their roles were reversed she'd be cheering him on to get out of here. Could he do any less?  
  
"Darien, I..." she began.  
  
He silenced her with a kiss. "They need you. I'll be fine."  
  
"I won't forget you," she said to him, meaning it. As far as she was concerned, she would never --could never -- forget him.  
  
Darien didn't respond, just held her as close as he could -- for as long as she would let him. When she was eventually lost in the throes of withdrawal, he whispered, "Yes, you will."  
  
  
  
It was four long days before Alyx finally began to come out of it. The three of them had been taking turns watching her. Michael had stayed nearby in case she lost control of her shields -- he was capable of imposing them on her -- but she had few problems, her control more than adequate to the task after all this time. Claire had wanted to start an I.V. on the second day, but Alyx wouldn't let her; she kept tossing the stuff out of the room without even realizing it. So they settled for getting her to drink when they could and keeping her as comfortable as possible.  
  
They kept telling Darien to go home, to get some rest, but he refused. When it was obvious on the mid-afternoon of the fourth day that she had finally fallen into a normal slumber, and blood tests came back clean, Claire ordered Darien to go home and enforced it by refusing to let him see Alyx until he'd had at least eight hours of sleep. Grumbling, he agreed.  
  
At home he sat down on his sofa, intending to just rest for a moment before grabbing something to eat and taking a shower. Instead, he woke up the next morning curled on his side, his back aching from the awkward position. The sofa might be fine for naps, but for a full night's sleep -- ten hours' worth, it turned out -- the beast was a back-killer and it took a steaming hot shower and a good twenty minutes of careful stretching before he felt ready to face the day.  
  
As he was driving into the office, he tried calling Claire several times, but got only the answering machine in the Keep. It bothered him, but not unduly, since he figured she was with Alyx in one of the other labs or the like. Once he arrived, he headed straight down, first to the padded room, and then the Keep itself when he found the padded room held only a couple of guys doing repairs on the torn padding. He searched all the labs on the lower levels before heading for the Official's office.  
  
Darien flung the door open so hard the glass nearly shattered when it hit the wall. Then he stalked over towards the desk the Official and Eberts were working behind.  
  
"Maybe we should just remove it. They never pay attention to it anyway," the Official muttered to Eberts.  
  
Darien slammed his palms onto the desk top. "Where the hell is she?"  
  
"Which she would that be Mr. Fawkes?" Eberts asked, trying to deflect Darien's anger. It might not have been the best of ideas, as Darien now focused his attention on him.  
  
"Where...is...she?" he repeated, enunciating each word carefully and precisely so they would be unable to mistake what he was saying.  
  
The Official opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the arrival of Bobby Hobbes. "Hey partner, what's up? The Chief have a job for us?"  
  
"No, Hobbes. He was just about to tell me what he has done with Alyx," Darien said, without turning towards his partner. "Weren't you?"  
  
"You did something with the kid?" Hobbes added, his tone matching Darien's.  
  
"Sit down and shut up. Both of you," the Official shouted. He glared at them until they complied. "Now, as per the agreement I made with her former Keeper, Ms. Silver has been returned home. Within two weeks, barring complications, she will be back with her family, and you," He pointed at Darien, "are forbidden to contact her without express permission of this Agency. Do you understand?"  
  
Darien shifted in his seat feeling a bit stunned. He had hoped to say goodbye or something. This... this was just too sudden, too fast, too.... It was the only the way, he realized.  
  
"Do you understand?" the Official shouted again.  
  
"Yeah. Yeah, I do," Darien said quietly, his anger having drained away.  
  
"Good. Now, I have a little job for the two of you," the Official said, getting back to the business at hand.  
  
  
  
She opened her eyes into the dimly-lit room, wondering where she was. Nothing made sense. Shouldn't she be at the Agency, or at her apartment, or maybe at... The images were quickly slipping away. The names, the faces. The Official, Eberts. Who could forget Eberts, even though he was the least memorable of them all. Claire and the Keep. Bobby and... someone else, someone important to her, but it was all fading quickly. Becoming nothing more than those wisps of memory that all dreams eventually become. She tried to sit up, wanting to know where she was, when a startled gasp was heard.  
  
"My god. You're awake." A near-stranger came over into her line of sight, and it took a long moment before she recognized him. "They said you'd wake up, but..."  
  
"Jess?" She said in utter confusion and no little fear. "Jess, what's going on?" Her voice was rough and low. Like she'd not spoken in a while.  
  
"Take it easy honey, you've been out of it for a while," Jess said, taking her hand. For an instant she wanted to do nothing more than jerk her hand away, but the fear was still there. She began to wonder what it was she had done wrong. She couldn't remember, but guessed it must have been really bad for her to end up here. Then the fear drained away suddenly, like someone flipping an emotional switch inside her, and she decided she would never allow this to happen again. That he had not the right to do this to her, that this pitiful wretch she had allowed herself to become at his hands was not the person she was or wanted to be anymore.  
  
A nurse came in then, intending to admonish him for the noise, but was forestalled by the sight of an obviously conscious patient. Shaking off her surprise at the sight, she came over to check the woman's vitals and found her disgustingly healthy. "I'll inform the doctor. You're a lucky woman, Mrs. Stevenson," she said before leaving to find that doctor.  
  
"Jess. What is she talking about?" she managed to ask through the confusion and surprising new confidence she suddenly found herself in possession of. It didn't help that her head was still filled with images of other people, other places.  
  
"You've been in a coma for two years," Jess answered. "We didn't even know. There was some sort of mix-up, and you've been playing sleeping beauty while the rest of the world kept going." He hugged her tightly. "Not that it matters. You're back. I can't wait to tell the kids."  
  
"Two years? That can't be right," she commented as she stiffly returned the hug. Was it all a dream? Those people, were they all some fantasy cooked up in her unconscious mind? Her husband held her hand, grinning like a kid at Christmas because she was here, with him. It... it must not have been real. Two years. But now she was going home.  
  
The adjustment back into their life didn't go as well as she had hoped. She was delighted to be with her kids again, and they seemed unusually glad to have her back. It made her wonder what had been going on while she'd been sleeping and living the fantasy life her mind had conjured up.  
  
Dani, her eldest, had gone from a gawky preteen to a beautiful young woman, with her mother's looks and her father's dark blonde hair, though in softer curls than her mother's -- a young lady who was entering the equivalent of the eleventh grade. All the children still went to private schools, ones that catered to the exceptional.  
  
Next was her son, Christopher, who was well on his way to becoming a handsome devil, on the verge of adolescence, his voice wavering between that of a child and that he would have as a man. His hair was more like that of his uncles, a deep rich brown with hints of red buried in it, a gorgeous contrast to the bright blue eyes that glinted with joy and mischief far more often than sadness.  
  
Then came Manda, who was a quiet, bookish child, but not shy -- far from shy -- just very focused and logical; she loved the sciences. She was still a girl at heart, but like all the rest acted far older than her true age. She had what at first appeared to be plain looks, with straight brown hair and deep blue eyes, but her mother knew better, could see in her the looks the child's grandmother -- Michele's mother -- had had. It was good bet the hair would lighten over the next few years, and the quiet looks would blossom into true beauty. It might be rough for a few years, but by the time she was seventeen or so she'd be fighting off the boys with a stick. A large stick.  
  
And finally there was Rose, who looked like Michele herself at that age, though the hair was more coppery than sunset red. She had the same grayish eyes and the same boundless energy that had led her mother into trouble on many occasions. She was already two grades ahead of every other child her age, and had still managed to make friends. Her infectious smile drew even those much older than her. She was so very smart. They all were.  
  
They had moved back to Rhode Island, to Newport, to be closer to family. For some reason it had not surprised her, like she had known about it all along, but couldn't quite understand why. Just another odd occurrence since her even more odd return. Money had come in from somewhere; Jess claimed it was a lucky lottery win, but she was more than a little disbelieving of him. The kids were set for life -- they all were -- but she still found it very odd. All those people she was sure she'd been close to, all those things she was sure she had done, had all been some elaborate dream cooked up by her sleeping imagination. She found it hard to believe, but knew it must be true. She was here.  
  
Jess was very careful around her at first, but as the months went by, he returned to his old ways. It was subtle at first -- snide comments and backhanded insults that she found did not bother her the way they once would have. She had changed during her long sleep, and for the better.  
  
Her brother Michael, who had been working for CIA last she knew, moved back to the area. They began spending free time together, which angered Jess to no end. She took up some of her old hobbies -- Karate, yoga, and Tai Chi -- and was surprised to discover she'd lost few if any of her old skills.  
  
That was when Jess' attempts at control and manipulation became physical again. First no more than the occasional shove or slap when she refused something, but he learned quickly that she would not be intimidated. The one and only time he attempted to punch her as a punishment, she had dodged and told him point blank she would never live in fear of him again.  
  
That very night, he moved out of their bedroom. Not that it had been a marriage bed since she had returned -- he hadn't even attempted to get close to her after the first few weeks, and she'd figured out he had himself a girl or two on the side, but for the time being she kept up the pretense.  
  
Other things were different as well. She no longer slept for more than four or five hours a night, which, though annoying and baffling to her doctors, seemed to have no detrimental effect on her well-being. She was on several medications for headaches that were the reminders of the head injury she'd sustained in the car accident. She also began blowing up light bulbs and electronics again, which the kids found very amusing but sometimes annoyed the hell out of her. And it was odd how her memory was so much better now -- you'd figure a head injury would make it worse -- and her senses were like nothing she could recall, so heightened that sometimes it frightened her.  
  
She adjusted. She got on with her life and lived it to the best of her ability. Yet there was always this hint of ... something, stirring on the edges of her mind, like she should be doing something else, be with someone else, but every time she tried to focus in on it, it would slip away.  
  
The wheel of the year turned. Then life decided to deal her another blow.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 


	3. Chapter 3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Darien sat on the beach, trying to be as casual as possible and betting he was failing miserably. It was hard to believe it had been over a year since he had last seen her. He watched her through his sunglasses, hoping it wasn't obvious that he only had eyes for her out of all the beautiful young women on the beach. She was building one rather impressive sand castle, with two of her children and her brother. Her other children -- one of whom was on the verge of adulthood and stood several inches taller than her mother -- were swimming nearby with some friends.  
  
Her youngest, a bouncing redhead, suddenly decided it would be fun to dump a bucket of water on Mom, and he watched as she ran after the child in mock anger. With little effort she caught the laughing child and carried her out into the water to toss her into the waves. The child surfaced spluttering and squealing in merriment and, as he watched, she dove gracefully through a wave after the youngster.  
  
"I knew I'd find you here," Bobby Hobbes commented as he sat on the sand next to his partner.  
  
"Go away, Hobbes. I'm on vacation." Darien didn't even bother turning away from the sight of her.  
  
"The Fat Man is going to have your ass if he finds out." Bobby leaned back against the warm white sand and watched her as well. Though he wouldn't admit it aloud, it was nice to see her again.  
  
"You're trying to tell me he didn't send you?" Darien lowered the glasses and looked over them at his partner.  
  
"Well... Okay, so he did. To keep you out of trouble," Hobbes admitted.  
  
"I just wanted to make sure she was okay. What with her husband dying like that..." He shrugged. "I had to see for myself."  
  
"Now you know why he didn't tell us when it happened," Bobby said quietly. "You'd have taken off without a thought in that head of yours and maybe mucked everything up."  
  
"I know, and I understand, even if I don't like it." Darien felt a shadow fall upon him and looked towards the source, expecting another nubile young thing to be standing over him trying not to giggle and blush. Instead he saw Michael, who did not look at all happy to see the two of them there.  
  
"You shouldn't be here." Michael had a dark look on his face.  
  
Darien stood up and removed the glasses. "I know, but I just found out about her husband. I wanted to make sure she was all right."  
  
"He's just gone a wee bit mad," Hobbes said. "Needs his shot I'm betting." Bobby was trying to cover for him, unsuccessfully. Darien gave him a glare for that comment -- shots were something he hoped to never have to worry about again.  
  
"Darien, I'm sure you had the best of intentions, but for the last year we've been trying to convince her that you and the Agency were just some weird dream she had while unconscious," Michael said quietly. 'Come on little fishy, take the nice bait' was what he was truly thinking, but he knew better than to make it easy.  
  
"Huh? Why?" Darien was baffled. As far as he knew, the plan had worked perfectly. Not that he would have been told otherwise, but... Claire would have let something slip if there had been any serious problems. She was how he'd found out about Jess' death. One of her slip ups.  
  
"She remembered everything. A little fuzzy around the edges, but she remembered," Michael filled in. "You know how good her memory is; trying to block or erase that much information was difficult, so we did the best we could and she still remembered far more than she should have."  
  
"Ah, crap," Hobbes muttered, echoing Darien's sentiments exactly. "We didn't know."  
  
"We'll clear out," Darien said, starting to slip his glasses back into place, but it was already too late and he found himself holding them in front of his face while staring, stunned, at the figure who had just stepped up next to Michael.  
  
"Hey Mikey, whatcha doing?" she asked, coming up behind her brother.  
  
"Nothing, just talking with some...friends," he answered, stumbling over the words a bit and she jumped on it.  
  
"Jeez, Mikey, don't tell me they're going to drag you off to work. Not this week." She seemed more than resigned, already expecting the worst.  
  
"No, wild horses..." he started.  
  
"Could gallop on your head and you'd still go if they called," she finished, knowing how very true it was. He had literally gotten up from the dinner table and left without explanation on a couple of occasions when work called.  
  
"'Chele. Don't start. It's just a coincidence," Michael said in an attempt to placate her.  
  
She snorted at him. "Right." Then she turned to Darien. "Hi, I'm Michele, this oaf's older sister. I'm betting you've worked with him on a case or two in the past." She held out hand which a stunned Darien managed to take, but he found himself unable to speak. She turned to her brother. "Tall and quiet. I like this one."  
  
"'Chele!" Mike said exasperated with her. She never failed to run over the top of anyone when she thought she was right. Which she often was.  
  
Bobby took her hand from a still-stunned Darien and shook it warmly. "I'm Bobby Hobbes, and the mute one here is my partner Darien Fawkes. We've worked with your brother on a couple of things in the past. I promise we're not here to steal him away." Always good with the quick line of BS, he found this one easier than most since it was true.  
  
"Good. In that case, you're invited to dinner," she offered them with an infectious smile.  
  
"I'm sure they can't, Michele. Work and all." Michael had the hook baited, but the trick was to reel them in slow and not snap the line.  
  
"And I'm sure they need to eat. You boys always cook ten times the food necessary just 'cause you want to play with my smoker. Two more isn't going to make a difference with the madhouse we're running." She turned to glare at him and Michael knew it was time to give up; she had that look that said she would get her way or else.  
  
Michael shrugged, leaving it up to the two agents.  
  
"If it's no imposition," Darien finally found his voice, though he had yet to tear his eyes away from her.  
  
"None at all, I assure you." She smiled at him, not at all put off by the way his eyes seemed to remain locked with hers. "I'm off to corral the young 'uns. Think you can give these two directions to the house?"  
  
"Sure, yeah." Mike was making it plain he was not overly happy with the situation, but also that he was unable to see an easy way out. "You okay?"  
  
"Just a headache. I'll take my meds when we get home." Michele turned to head back towards the castle where her children were packing up the beach stuff to head home. Darien couldn't help but notice that she had an impressive black and silver dragon tattooed on her back, covering the scar from where she'd been shot a lifetime ago. Just like they had once discussed.  
  
"What's up?" Hobbes asked Mike, nodding his chin in her direction.  
  
"Not now. I'll talk to both of you later." He was also watching her walk away, noting the hand that unconsciously came up to rub her forehead, and then gave them directions to the house.  
  
  
  
She hadn't lied about it being a madhouse. All of her brothers, their wives and kids, her kids, pets everywhere. Good thing her house was the size of city block. Okay, so that was a bit of an exaggeration, but the place was huge. They walked into the house to hear her bellowing at her kids to get cleaned up and not to hog all the hot water. Since they were arriving just after her, she waved them into the house and into what was obviously the family area. Grouching about men ruining the kids' eyesight, she flipped on the light, only to have the bulb explode in a brilliant flash of blue sparks. Everyone in the room turned to her and shouted either her name or an exasperated "Mom!"  
  
"Sorry," she mumbled, obviously embarrassed.  
  
A man, who had to be her one of her brothers, stood up and planted himself in front of her. "Out. Go. I banish ye." He waved his hands at her. "I won't having you toasting the new player, not yet anyway." Everyone in the room began to laugh, and Michael steered her away.  
  
"Go use my shower," he said to her. "Give yourself a shot. You need it." He currently lived in the large apartment over the garage; he'd moved in to help out when Jess had died.  
  
She nodded. "You'll check on the kids for me?"  
  
"Of course. Go. We can do without you for a few minutes." He gave her a gentle push to get her on her way.  
  
"Thanks." She scampered off to shower and change, but not before Darien had noticed her blood-shot eyes.  
  
"What's wrong with her?" Darien had a feeling that he knew the answer, but wanted to be sure.  
  
Looking around the room, Michael led them to the deck out back, which was currently abandoned except for a black cat that lay like a lump on the railing. It opened one eye and stared balefully at the strangers invading its territory and then ignored them, going back to sleep. The huge smoker/grill combo was pouring both smoke and the heavenly scent of roasting meat onto the evening breeze. He waved them to sit at one of the tables that was set up on the deck and held his tongue until they had.  
  
"It's the quicksilver. It's causing some side effects," Michael explained to the two men, who were both showing obvious concern for their former partner.  
  
"But I thought she was immune to the effects?" Bobby asked in a bit of confusion. The kid and Fawkes might both be able to quicksilver, but from what he remembered, they did it differently.  
  
"If you mean the madness that Darien dealt with, you're correct." Michael leaned back against a nearby railing. "Her condition is being caused by a lack of quicksilver hormone in her blood. The inhibitor, which is a variation of the one she helped design for Darien, has done its job a bit too well." He rubbed his forehead. "She began exhibiting symptoms within weeks of coming home, and it's gotten progressively worse."  
  
"She's... This is what happened when she was a kid, right?" Darien watched Mike carefully.  
  
"Yes," Michael agreed with a sigh. "She has the opposite problem Darien had. She grew up with the quicksilver in her system, so when the gland stops or slows production of the quicksilver beyond a certain point, she runs into problems. She can't survive without it. Claire and I have been working on this problem for six months or so." Mike moved to sit at one of the other chairs. "We've tried adjusting the inhibitor, tried to simulate the hormone, any number of things, with little success."  
  
"She's dying, isn't she?" Darien asked, coming to the astonishing conclusion. The look on Hobbes' face was shock for a long moment, then anger.  
  
"Yes. Based on the last set of tests, she has maybe a year, two at the most," Michael replied sadly. "We did another work-up a week ago, but the results aren't back yet. Hopefully there will be good news."  
  
"Well, do something. After everything she's been through, you'd think they'd do something." The anger leaked into Darien's voice. After everything, you'd think they'd get something right, but he wasn't overly surprised they were screwing this up as well.  
  
"We're trying. We found your Uncle's old documents on her case." Mike turned to face Darien. "And we managed to duplicate the drug he came up with to help stimulate production, but it's not enough. We can't reverse time; we can't undo what was done, not without killing her that much sooner."  
  
"What are the options?" Darien asked, feeling a bit lost. This was not part of the plan. She was supposed to get her life back in full, not have it cut short by more of the Agency's manipulations.  
  
"We keep going they way things are and hope for a solution or..." Michael paused.  
  
"Don't leave us hanging, my friend," Bobby said impatiently.  
  
"We stop all treatment completely, tell her the truth, and hope her system returns to normal," he finished.  
  
"Well, now we know why the Fat Man didn't blow his top when you came here, partner," Bobby chuckled ruefully. "Sneaky bastard."  
  
"Damn," Darien muttered softly. All this, so she could go home and die? It just wasn't fair. "What story did you tell her?" When Michael looked at him in confusion Darien added, "I noticed the tattoo on her back, covering the scar, plus the one above her hip. I know how she got them, but I was wondering what you told her."  
  
"Car wreck. It's also how we explained the headaches, and made for a good excuse for the drugs we have to give her." He didn't go into details, about the MRIs and CAT scans they showed her when she refused to believe them, but with the proof before her eyes she was forced to believe, and had to admit that with the meds her head hurt far less. She had adjusted to the shots and the pills, and it was just another facet of her renewed life.  
  
"Your turn, Mikey." She stepped through one set of French doors and out onto the patio. She caught the looks on their faces. "Oops. Sorry. I'll get some drinks and come back in a few."  
  
Michael got to his feet and went to her. "Don't go. We've finished for now." He led her over to the table and urged her to sit. "You look better."  
  
"Hey, a quick needle in the thigh will fix anything," she said with a laugh. "The kids are terrorizing our brothers, and the food's nearly done if I'm any judge. I'll handle things for now. Scoot. Stop acting like my big brother, I've already got two." She waved him away, and after giving both Darien and Bobby a look, he reluctantly left.  
  
After he had gone, she turned to the two men sitting to either side of her. "I know that look. He told you guys something he didn't want me to hear."  
  
"Ummm..." Darien mumbled  
  
"I... We... I mean...." Bobby supplied.  
  
"Don't worry I won't try to find out." she chuckled at them. "I know he can't talk about most of his work -- all that classified crap. And it's not like I can read minds or anything."  
  
  
  
Dinner was a most confusing, but happy affair. Michael introduced Darien and Bobby around to everyone. Two other brothers, their wives, who arrived just before dinner with yet more food, and the kids. The youngest was only a few months old and the eldest was Michele's daughter, who was not quite sixteen yet. There were about a dozen in all, and Darien let most of the names pass by. He figured he'd remember them if he had to, or they would fill in the blank for him. She hadn't been kidding when she said there was more than enough food for everyone. There were racks of ribs, chicken, steaks, plus every side dish imaginable, from beans to a green salad in a bowl big enough to bathe the baby in.  
  
They set the food on the huge trestle table in the kitchen. Darien could swear that just the kitchen was bigger than his entire apartment, and it still felt small with the crowd they had stuffed into it. Plates were filled and people wandered to other rooms or outside onto the elaborate deck to eat. Michele wandered about, seeing that everyone had food and drink, checking that the kids weren't damaging themselves or each other, ordering one of her brothers away from the television on pain of equipment destruction, before ever pausing to get herself something.  
  
Darien had filled the aching void that was his stomach and was currently relaxing, leaning against the railing of the deck, drinking a beer, and admiring the backyard. Trees surrounded an open area of a least a half acre. Off the deck to the right was an in-ground pool and spa. To the left was an elaborate gazebo that was part of the deck. The edges of the yard were all landscaped and he could see what looked like stone pathways wandering around the edges. He thought he'd heard, during a short moment of silence, the sound of running water and guessed there was a small fountain buried out there somewhere. Whatever else might be happening, she was prospering here. Happily, too.  
  
"Need a refill?" a voice said behind him.  
  
He turned to see her standing there, holding another beer obviously meant for him. Examining the one he held, he found it empty. "Sure." As he took the bottle from her, he took the time to look her over. She seemed unchanged, the eyes still that glorious silver that had surprised him, the red hair doing its best to compete with the sunset tinted sky -- even the streak of silver was the same. She met his look without flinching, allowing him all the time he needed to look her over. When he finally turned away, she joined him leaning against the railing.  
  
"I warned you it would be a madhouse." Michele looked out over the expanse of yard with a bit of pride. She had worked hard to make this place something special, a place the kids and the family would want to come to and feel safe, welcome.  
  
Down below, the younger kids began an intricate game of keep-away, with the older kids joining the adults in the game. Hobbes was sitting off to one side, offering advice to the younger kids on how to defeat their larger opponents. Darien found it most amusing.  
  
One of her brother's wives came over, Michele's oldest brother he thought, and mentioned it was getting a bit dark for play. Michele blinked at her, saying that she hadn't noticed, but agreed turn on the lights. Before she could take step towards the bank of light switches, every light in the yard came on. The game halted momentarily and they all looked at her. "You want me to turn them off?" she called out.  
  
After a chorus of 'no's,' the game resumed.  
  
"Well, Mr. Fawkes, I'm wondering how much my brother has told you about me," she asked out of the blue.  
  
Darien almost choked on his beer. "And why would you think he's told me anything?" He tried to sound casual and refused to look at her, instead pretending to watch the mass terror down below.  
  
"Because it's not often I meet someone male who doesn't a) refuse to believe I could possibly be old enough to have one child never mind four or b) wonder how I managed said children without a husband drooling contentedly all over me." Glancing over at him she continued. "Give. He set this up didn't he? He's been nagging at me to get out."  
  
Darien laughed. "No, he didn't set this up. It really was a coincidence. As to my lack of... ummm... interest? It's none of my business. Your kids seem happy, and that's all that really matters."  
  
"An enlightened male. Can I keep you for personal use or are you otherwise involved?" Michele quipped in a semi-serious tone.  
  
Before Darien could stop himself, "I'm yours" popped out of his mouth. Then he closed his eyes and tipped his head down unable to believe he'd said that to her.  
  
She patted him gently on the back. "Don't worry, I have that effect sometimes. I won't hold you to it."  
  
Down below an uproar began and she shouted, "Jacob MacTierney, that's against the rules and you know it." She turned to Darien. "If you'll excuse me?"  
  
He managed to nod, still thoroughly embarrassed by what he had said. As he watched she hopped over the railing of the deck to land in a crouch on the ground about six feet below. For anyone else it would have been showing off, but he had a feeling this was a usual occurrence around here. She stalked across the yard to the offending brother and told him to pick on somebody his own size. He proceeded to pretend he could not see her due to the fact she stood a foot shorter than him. A wrestling match ensued. The smaller kids went after the larger with surprising ability. Even Hobbes was impressed. Michael made his way out of the herd and up to Darien.  
  
"I know something happened, what was it?" Michael asked as he leaned against the railing beside him.  
  
"Nothing really, just made the usual fool of myself. She didn't seem to mind." Darien commented and then explained what had transpired.  
  
Michael was laughing by the end. "I tried to warn you this wasn't the best of ideas. Putting the two of you together... It has been over a year. It can't have been all work for you?"  
  
"No, it hasn't," Darien answered. "But what am I gonna do, date the Keep? There aren't too many people out there who are going to understand that I may vanish on occasion. Literally." There had been a few, very few, encounters with other women since Alyx, but none had lasted for very long. "And she's a hard act to follow."  
  
"Try to keep in mind that she won't understand either. Well, the tide has turned in favor of those over five feet tall," Michael observed of the wrestling match below. "It's not really fair. They know she can beat them any day of the week, but she's trying to make sure the wives won't hate her later." He turned to Darien. "I think she could use some assistance, don't you?"  
  
Darien looked at him. "Are you sure?"  
  
"Just see that she's happy," Michael answered truthfully. If nothing else, she deserved some happiness. Darien nodded and set down the beer. Watching him run down the stairs to join the fracas below, Michael smiled to himself. "I'll have to call Claire and thank her. This might just work."  
  
Darien charged into the fray and began organizing the younger kids, with Bobby's assistance, to conduct a rescue of the 'damsel in distress.' It didn't help that said damsel was laughing like a maniac, finding the entire situation completely amusing. The weapon of choice was to be ruthless tickling. The little kids were to split up the group of older kids and adults so that Darien could sneak in and perform the actual rescue.  
  
The melee that ensued was filled with laughter. At one point, her brothers resorted to trying to carry her off to keep the younger kids from regaining the prize. That's when she went to work to aid the younger ones. He wasn't sure how it started, but suddenly people were flying. She had gotten free of the brother holding her, Jacob he believed, by somehow tossing him, and she was dodging all attempts at recapture. With a rallying cry, Bobby got the kids reorganized to go after the two adults and keep them from her. It worked perfectly until Darien walked up behind her, to sweep her off her feet like the heroic knight he was pretending to be, he thought, and found himself unceremoniously thrown over her hip and onto the ground. He wasn't hurt, just surprised as hell to find himself lying there looking up at her.  
  
She dropped to her knees, trying unsuccessfully not to laugh. She offered her hand to help him to sit up and instead found herself dumped onto the grass next to him with the aid of one of her brothers. Lifting herself up she met his eyes.  
  
"And I thought I was rescuing you," Darien said with a smile.  
  
"I'm so sorry. I thought you were one of my brothers." She was still trying not to laugh, but stray giggles kept escaping. "The sentiment is greatly appreciated."  
  
"Oh jeez. She's gone," the younger of the two brothers commented from somewhere nearby.  
  
"Hush smart-ass, or you'll be the next to be unceremoniously dumped in the dirt." Michele snapped her head about and glared at him.  
  
He raised his hands in surrender and backed away, laughing like madman.  
  
"Ignore him. He's just happy it's not him I dumped on his ass for a change." She got to her feet and once again offered her hand to help him up. This time he accepted, and with a tug she helped him upright. For a long moment they just stood there, their hands still together, their eyes meeting, their smiles fading to become more serious.  
  
Bobby walked over to them, noticing the looks they were giving each other. He knew he should break it up, but didn't have the heart to. Not while knowing the kid might not have very long and with how Fawkes still felt about her. "You know, those kids could work for us right now. Impressive skills you've taught them."  
  
"Me? Who says I taught them anything?" She somehow managed to give them a completely innocent look. She knew enough about what Michael and his friends did for a living to understand what he was referring to. She was also smart enough to realize that, because she was related to Michael, she and they could, in theory, be used against him. With that in mind, they had made sure the children were ready for that possibility.  
  
"Alyx..." Darien began, then realized what he had said. "Ah, crap."  
  
'Chele whipped her head around to glare at him. "How did you know my middle name?"  
  
"Ummm. Mike mentioned it?" Darien tried as a cover.  
  
"He guessed?" Bobby answered.  
  
"Uh huh. Something's going on here, and when I find out what...." she let the implied threat hang in the air. "Until then, I have some children to tuck in, so if you'll excuse me." She dashed off at their nods and used the stairs to go back up to the house.  
  
Michael joined them down on the lawn in time to see Bobby smack Darien in the back of the head and say, "Brilliant. Low profile, remember? If it wasn't for that gland I wonder if you'd be good for anything."  
  
"Would ya get off my back, Hobbes. It's not like I knew her real name before today," Darien said shoving away from Bobby.  
  
"Called her Alyx did you? No big deal, tell her I told you to do it to piss her off." Michael told them with a shrug. It really wasn't that big a deal even if it did make her a bit suspicious. "Our parents weren't expecting twins, so they gave us the same name. Michael Alexander. Michele Alexandra. Called her Alyx for while when we were little so we'd be able to tell our names apart. C'mon inside. You don't want to miss the floor show."  
  
Following him, they settled themselves on one of the sofas in the family room. The older kids had been banished to the game room to watch TV or goof off in general until it was time for them to head to bed. Her older brothers were once again arguing with the newest toy for the entertainment center, having still failed to get it working correctly. After about five minutes, their wives came back downstairs sans kids and hushed them up.  
  
"The kids talked her into it," one of them said before sitting down in one of the chairs in the room.  
  
Into what, Darien wondered, until he heard the singing. It was a simple lullaby, but done in an exquisite alto, deep, rich, full of life.  
  
"I didn't know she could sing," Bobby said astonished.  
  
"She won't in front of us. Too much teasing as a child from her wonderful brothers. But for the kids? She caves every time." Michael was leaning back into the cushions and enjoying the peaceful moment.  
  
"Not true. You get her drunk enough and she will. 'Course, she gets a bit bawdy, but it sounds just as wonderful." Patrick, her other brother, laughed. The conversation turned into a discussion of the raunchiest song she'd ever sung and then devolved from there by the time she returned.  
  
"Okay sis, we give up. This thing won't work. Think you can get it up and running without blowing it up?" Jacob asked her with great -- if feigned -- reluctance.  
  
"I don't know... picking on women and taking them hostage. What would your wife say?" She smirked at them.  
  
"She'd say you probably deserved it. Now fix the thing so we can see this movie they've been crowing about all week." That from Jacob's wife, Rachel.  
  
"All right, but just remember they, the males of the species, asked me, the female of said species," 'Chele commented, walking over to the offending piece of equipment.  
  
"Yes, yes, we bow before your greatness. Get on with it," Jacob said, and everyone else laughed.  
  
She held out her hand. "Instructions."  
  
They handed over the booklet and she flipped through the pages almost casually, but everyone in the room knew she was not only reading them but committing them to memory. Some things even a complete memory change couldn't alter. Tossing the booklet aside she took a look at the wiring they'd done to connect the DVD player to the rest of the things in the room. After a few quick changes, she set it on the shelf that had been waiting for it and -- to the complete embarrassment of her brothers -- plugged it in.  
  
The groans from the two brothers were only overshadowed by the hysterical laughter of their wives.  
  
"I think you can handle it from here, guys." She tossed them the remote and wandered from the room.  
  
Michael got to his feet and intercepted her. "Are you all right?"  
  
"Yeah. Just need some quiet for while." She stepped by him and walked out onto the deck, dimming the lights as she went. She strolled down to the gazebo and lay down on one of the ledges that doubled as seats, between supports; her legs straight up in the air against one support. Her hand pressed to her forehead. She hadn't lied to Michael, just failed to tell the entire truth. For all the medication they had her on, the headaches never really went away anymore. He'd be shocked to know how often she was taking the medication some days. What used to keep the pain at bay for two weeks now sometimes only lasted hours. But she endured it without complaint, because of her kids. She'd left them once already, and she didn't intend to do it again.  
  
About thirty minutes later, she spoke quietly. "Whoever's there, in or out, stop waffling." She could hear someone standing at the entrance to the gazebo.  
  
"Sorry, I didn't want to disturb you." Darien leaned against the post, watching her in the dim light.  
  
Michele turned to look at him with a shy smile upon her lips. "I thought you were one of my brothers; they always tiptoe around me when I come out here. Come in. Sit. Turn into a vegetable." She waved him in.  
  
He ducked through the doorway out of habit, even though there was plenty of clearance. He sat on the bench below her, putting their heads on the same level, though he made sure to sit away from her face. Like all of this wasn't temptation enough. She was as beautiful as he remembered, more in some ways since she no longer had that sadness on her soul from being away from her children. She'd cut her hair at some point and it fell to just below her shoulders, though still the same brilliant color that he recalled. It was her eyes that he remembered the most, the best, and he had found himself falling the moment he met them with his own back on the beach earlier. He had tried to fight the feelings that surged to the surface, tried to tell himself that it had been too long, that she was a different person, but his heart refused to listen. He knew he didn't dare get that close to her, not now, not ever. Not unless there was some dramatic change in his life or hers, and he would definitely not wish that upon her; not after everything.  
  
"Movie not your type?" She shifted slightly so she could look at him a bit better, but he was staring off into the darkness and not meeting her eyes, so she returned to finding the few stars visible through the canopy of trees.  
  
"Not really. With what I do for a living, James Bond seems kind of redundant. Bobby thinks it's great, though. Keeps pointing out the errors. He was arguing with Jacob when I left," Darien commented quietly. "You aren't feeling well are you?"  
  
"Don't tell Michael," she sighed. "I don't need a trip to the hospital. Not this week. It's not often the whole lot of us can get together." She turned her head to look at him her eyes flashing in the dim light to find him now watching her. "How did you know?"  
  
I always know, he wanted to say, but didn't dare to. "I used to have similar problems myself. The symptoms are pretty obvious," is what he finally answered her with.  
  
"Mmmm. You have my deepest sympathies." She blinked lazily at him. "So what brings you to our quaint little town? Something at the Naval Base perchance?"  
  
"Actually, I'm on vacation. I was out here a couple years ago on a job and thought I'd like to come back." Darien answered with the half truth. He hadn't even realized there was a naval base out here.  
  
"And your partner? He's on vacation as well?" Curiosity about her brother's two friends won out over any need for secrecy they might have.  
  
"No, he's just checking up on me." He allowed some of his irritation be heard in his voice. Bobby might be his best friend in the world, but it still annoyed Darien when he was baby-sat.  
  
She sighed dramatically. "I get a lot of that myself. It was bad enough when I woke up from the coma, but then Jess died. They seem to think I'm some delicate porcelain doll that must be coddled and protected. Ugh. I hate it some days." Shifting, she sat up and stretched her arms over her head for a second before sagging to lean back against the post. "So you found our lovely beaches already, and the lovelies that wander them, I'm sure. Any other plans? Cliff Walk, the Mansions, Brick Market Place, Ocean Drive?"  
  
Darien put up his hands. "Slow down, I just got in last night and my plans are quite flexible."  
  
"Sorry." She grinned. "I... Never mind." She noticed the tattoo, only partially hidden by his watchband. "May I?" she asked, pointing at his wrist.  
  
"Sure." He held his hand out for her.  
  
When she touched him there was a snap and she swore as he flinched at the shock. "I hate when I do that. Sorry." Moving the watch band, she traced the outline of the green snake that lay curled on his wrist. Her eyes got this faraway look like she was seeing something he wasn't. For an instant she was seeing the tattoo with both red and green segments and his eyes ... his eyes were a deep crimson. Then she shook her head, trying to clear the major attack of deja vu she'd just had.  
  
"What?" His fingers wrapped gently about her wrist.  
  
"Just... I'm not sure. More weirdness is all, I guess," she answered softly, not resisting the hold he had on her. It felt rather nice in fact, like it should be, like... like he was an old friend whom she was renewing her acquaintance with. She'd done that a lot since waking up. "You're welcome to spend your time with us if you like." She met his gaze. "Both of you."  
  
Even though she had amended her statement to include Hobbes, he knew what she meant. "You're having a family reunion or something this week, I couldn't impose on that." Darien knew they didn't belong here, not now.  
  
"You wouldn't be," she whispered. "I'd like you to stay." Then she blinked and blushed bright red. "Listen to me. I've known you a few hours and I'm acting like a fool, forgive me. Mike's right, I need to get out more." She tried to pull her hand away, but he wouldn't let her.  
  
"Not a fool. Unless I'm one as well." Darien drew her closer to him until they were focused solely on each other.  
  
"Perhaps I should get your partner's opinion of that?" She gave him a half-hearted grin, but she was distracted, trying to figure out why he seemed so very familiar to her. Why she seemed to feel so comfortable, safe, with him.  
  
"Oh, he'd tell you I'm a fool," Darien chuckled. Knowing he was being said fool, but not caring, he let go of her hand to brush his fingers across her cheek and then back into her hair.  
  
When she closed her eyes and leaned into his hand with a sigh, he knew he had to leave, and now. This was unfair to her. He would go home at the end of the week and probably never return. She deserved to be happy for what time she had left to her, and he was quite sure that her happiness could be better achieved without the kind of complications he would add. So, instead of kissing her like he so desperately wanted to, he said, "I have to go."  
  
Her eyes flew open. "Go?"  
  
"Yeah, go. You have three overly-protective brothers who are each quite capable of flattening me, I'm sure, and would probably quite willingly gang up on me for besmirching your honor. So I'm going." Darien found himself unable to tear his gaze away from hers.  
  
"Besmirching? My honor? Did I just wander into a romance novel?" she questioned with a look of astonishment.  
  
"Well, since we're both still dressed and there's no 'sultry breeze' blowing, I think we're still grounded in reality." Darien got to his feet and stepped away.  
  
"Ah, then the ravishment must wait, I take it." She stood as well. "I'll walk you out."  
  
Darien followed, shaking his head.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 


	4. Chapter 4

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Back at the hotel room he was now sharing with Hobbes, who was snoring away in the other bed, Darien lay with his hands behind his head staring at the unfamiliar ceiling. He was feeling more than a bit confused. For all that he'd come out here to see her, to make sure she was okay, he hadn't planned on meeting her and it was throwing his life into chaos. Now, while he hadn't spent the last year pining over her, so to speak, neither had he looked elsewhere for long-term female companionship. He had just allowed himself to get involved in the work and tried not to think about her. And now... Now, here she was, alive, happy, and no memory of who the hell he was. It made him want to scream about the unfairness of the world.  
  
Giving up on sleep, he walked quietly across the room and opened the sliding door to go out onto the balcony.  
  
"That you, Fawkes?" rumbled up from the other bed.  
  
"Go back to sleep, Hobbes. Everything's fine," Darien said almost without thought. This wasn't the first time they'd shared a room and Darien had been unable to sleep.  
  
"You want to talk about it?" Hobbes asked, sounding a bit more awake. He had a damn good idea what was keeping his partner from sleeping tonight. He'd been the one to help him through more than a few drunken and sleepless nights after the kid had first left.  
  
"No. Go back to sleep," Darien snapped, replying a bit more forcefully than he intended.  
  
"If you change your mind..." Bobby let the sentence hang, wanted his friend to know he'd do whatever he needed to help him get through this.  
  
"Thanks, Bobby." Darien went out onto the balcony, shutting the door behind him. They were staying at one of the nicer hotels in the area and had sprung for a room with an ocean view. A quarter moon hung low over the water, and there was the distant sound of crashing waves from far below. He had to keep reminding himself this was not the Pacific he was looking at. During the day, the difference was obvious, the only time the Pacific took on that shade of gray was during one hell of a storm. Sitting in one of the chairs on the balcony, he stretched out, allowing his legs to extend their full length under the table.  
  
The sound of waves crashing into the tall cliffs just wasn't the same as them rolling along the beach, and he understood now why she had often said she'd missed it. It was something he could easily become accustomed to. Damn. He had to stop thinking like that, unless he wanted to do something drastic like leave the Agency. So much had happened since she had left them; he'd changed in many ways from the person she had known. Been through so much, including having the quicksilver madness removed from the gland. Never again would he have to suffer the throes of madness, never risk harming himself, or more importantly others, because his id had decided it wanted to play.  
  
He had even left for a while, joined Jones over at the FBI, and learned that he missed his friends. That the work was not nearly as much fun without people he liked being with, people who understood him and whom he understood. People who actually thought he was more than a one-trick-wonder and had a use beyond turning invisible on occasion. The Agency had become a family, of sorts, and even with all the hassles of it, he had decided he enjoyed the work. It's not like he stayed for the money. Hell, one of the first things he'd done after gaining freedom from the madness was rob a bank, only to discover that without the challenge, without the risk, it wasn't any fun.   
  
But now, now that he knew she might not live much longer, the temptation to leave, to go ahead and thumb his nose at the Official, to try to have a normal life with her for as long as he could -- well, it was more than tempting. It was a dream, a fantasy he'd played with now and again, even before she'd gotten out. Now, it could really happen -- a couple of phone calls, maybe even some help from Mike, and he'd be here for as long as she had left to her.  
  
Maybe he should talk to Bobby. Nah, Hobbes would go on about what an idiot he was to even think of leaving the Agency, especially for a woman, even if it was Alyx. Michele, he told himself, Michele. She wasn't Alyx anymore. Not that it seemed to make a difference to him. He still wanted her, wanted to fall asleep beside her, wake up with her lying beside him, argue with her, work with her, catch her when she stumbled and be rescued by her when he did, to grow old with her. Except that she wasn't going to grow old, unless they solved her problem.  
  
Shifting, he rested his chin on his hand, his elbow on the padded arm of the chair and looked out at the sea until he drifted off to sleep.  
  
  
  
Michael was also unable to sleep. He was wrestling with several concerns, all circling around his sister. He knew she was keeping something from him, and he suspected it was about her condition. Somehow, even though she had only the vaguest memories of her abilities, she still somehow managed to shield him out of her mind. For months he'd only been able to pick up the barest hint of what was going on inside her. He had only recently guessed something was seriously wrong because of the amount of medication she was using. It was beginning to look like the estimate of two years was far too hopeful. She might not have a year unless a solution was found. It might already be too late.  
  
That was a large was part of the reason why he had conspired with Claire, Darien's Keeper, to reintroduce the pair. If she only had a short time left, she should be happy. Or at least as happy as possible. There were other reasons as well. If they ended up telling her the truth, giving her the memories back, then having Darien around would, hopefully, ease the transition. He had never forgiven the Agency for tearing her away from her life, but it was beginning to look as if the Agency might be the only recourse to save it.  
  
He wished she'd talk to him, but she was being her stubborn old self, ignoring any discomfort to be with her kids. Since Jess had died, she'd gotten more stubborn, more determined to be there for them. Not that she smothered them or overprotected them, but come hell or high water, she was not going to leave them alone again. That's why this week had been so important to him. He feared she would not be around much longer, for one reason or another, and was determined to make sure their brothers got to see the person she had become. He'd even pulled some strings and arranged for both of them to be transferred back to the area with their respective companies, so that they could all be together again when the time came.  
  
Part of him wished Jess had died sooner. Oh, that sounded horrible, but the first time he had seen her and Darien together, he knew that they belonged with each other. He hated the fact that he'd been forced to separate them, but he had promised himself and her that if he could get her out, he would. He'd refused to let their attachment to each other change that. He'd known, however, that if the situation presented itself she'd head right back to him like a moth drawn to a candle flame. And if yesterday was any indication, it was working. Now, to just keep Darien from going all noble and leaving her alone. That would be the last thing either of them needed.  
  
Outside, the birds began their predawn ritual of greeting the impending sunrise and he heard the sounds of activity as his sister began her own daily ritual.  
  
  
  
Michele stood in her back yard stretching before beginning her morning katas. It drove her crazy, but between the headaches and life in general, she never seemed to sleep more than four or five hours a night. It had become one of the many things Jess had complained bitterly about and used as yet another excuse to try and beat her down. As she moved through her routine, she thought about him as she made herself do every morning. She wished things had been different when she'd returned, but both of them had changed. He had moved on, had found someone else, only to discover that his wife still lived. He'd been sorely tempted to sue the hospital for that screw-up, but she had talked him out of it.  
  
She... well, she had awoken someone else. No longer the sweet, naive, complacent, subservient woman he'd married. The woman who had stuck out college, though with a change of major, even after what had happened, and gotten a degree because she loved to learn, who had given up her job for her children, who had allowed herself to become dependent on a single man for everything. A man who beat her down, one way or another, because he enjoyed it. The first time he had tried to verbally abuse her after she had woken up, she had laughed in his face and told him exactly what he could go do with himself. He had been so shocked and so angry she'd been very surprised when he hadn't had a stroke right there before her eyes. Instead, he had stormed off and come home much later, smelling of cheap whiskey and even cheaper women.  
  
Having completed her first routine, she picked up the staff she'd been practicing with recently and began her newest one. Her thoughts continued. Jess had become more and more distant, as well as more violent, but she'd found it little more than annoying. The fear he had once instilled in her was gone, and without that, his ability to control her was gone as well. Their marriage, for all intents and purposes, had ended the day of her accident. She tried to keep their problems from the children, but that proved impossible and, much to Jess' dismay, they, as one, sided with their mother. He felt they owed him their allegiance because of how well he had cared for them while Michele was gone. It was their youngest, Rose, who had pointed out one evening during yet another argument, that it was the money that had taken care of them, bought whatever they'd needed, provided for the housekeepers, tutors, and the private schools. Not him. He had simply spent the money. That proved to be the last straw for him. He went after the child, and Michele stopped him.  
  
Michele ended up with a black eye. Jess... Jess stormed out of the house with a few bruises and a bloody nose of his own, and then drove through a red light into the side of a semi truck, killing himself instantly.  
  
Restarting the routine, Michele ran through it again to try ease the ache in her heart. She still carried the guilt for that night. Part of her still felt it was her fault. If she hadn't fought back... If she hadn't defended herself after stopping him... Rose had been long gone by the time the first punch had been thrown. She'd had no choice but to defend Rose -- she was only eight years old, no match for a full grown man. Michele was her mother, her defender, her guardian. She'd had no choice.  
  
She still 'what iffed' over the incident. What if she'd just let him keep hitting her, what if she'd been more careful when she'd reacted. He didn't know karate, after all, and she'd been studying for years before the accident. She'd been practicing again with her brother Michael, but her response had surprised even herself. Automatic and instantaneous. When he'd swung at her the second time, after she'd pulled herself off the floor, she simply reacted. Dodging his fist, she had grabbed his arm and twisted it up behind his back and marched him face first into the nearest wall. That's when she'd bloodied his nose, she supposed. She remembered herself warning him to never, ever threaten the children again, or she would see to it he would never see them again. Then she released him, almost as astonished as he by what she had done.  
  
For a moment he had stood glaring at her, blood dripping down his face, his hands clenched in fists at his sides. She remembered doing... something -- she was never quite sure what -- but she knew she was angry, the type of anger you see with a lioness defending her cubs. His anger had drained away and, for a fleeting second, he had appeared to be frightened. Of her. It lasted a moment, no more, and then the anger returned and he stormed off into the night.  
  
Michael watched his sister from the side of the yard. Most mornings he would join her, but not this time. He could feel the flow of her thoughts, could see what she was reviewing in her mind, could almost experience the memories she was poring over. He could feel the pain, the anger, and the guilt. He had been the one she called after Jess had stormed out that night. He had been the one with her when the police arrived to tell her what had happened. He had been the one to stand by her side when she told her children. And he had been the only one to realize that what drove Jess off had been her using her powers unconsciously. Her anger had overridden the inhibitors and allowed her to do... something. He never discovered exactly what, but it frightened the man enough to make him leave.  
  
He watched his sister, his twin, as she worked herself towards exhaustion in the early morning sunshine, and wondered if she even noticed the tears flowing freely down her cheeks.  
  
  
  
"Fawkes, I'm telling you this is not a good idea," Bobby was saying as they walked up to the door of the house. It was not the front door, which was far more elaborate and about half a block away, but the one they'd entered by yesterday that was far closer to the parking lot that her driveway had become. It was obviously the door most commonly used, and opened onto the family area instead of the far more formal living areas. They'd been given the two-bit tour of the house yesterday and both agreed they'd have gotten lost in under five minutes, much to the amusement of their tour guides.  
  
"Look, I promised I'd show up. You can go. I'm sure one of them will drop me back at the hotel later," Darien said starting to get irritated with his partner. They'd returned one of the rental cars, figuring they wouldn't need two of them if they were always together. He didn't need to be reminded that this was a stupid thing to be doing. If it wasn't for the fact that her brother Michael would probably hunt him down for failing to appear, he would not have come. Somewhere over the course of his mental wanderings last night, he had decided to stay away from her. To let her live her life without the complications he would bring to it.  
  
"No way, my friend. Can't keep you out of trouble if I'm not here," Bobby tossed back easily.  
  
"Then shut up and pretend to enjoy yourself," Darien snapped as he rang the doorbell.  
  
The door was opened by Michele's oldest, Dani, who was obviously not surprised to see the two of them. She was already taller than her mother, easily matching Bobby in height "Hey guys, Michael was about to call out the hounds to look for you." She waved them into the house. "Mike, your friends are here!" she bellowed as she led them towards the kitchen.  
  
Michael met them in the doorway with an admonishment for Dani. "Where are your manners, young lady?" he said, trying unsuccessfully to sound angry.  
  
"Right where they belong," she replied saucily. "Saved for real company. According to Rosie-dear, these two count as family."  
  
"Dani!" He laughed and turned to the two men. "You see what I have to put up with. Off with you, wench. Work on that tan, or something else equally useless."  
  
The young woman chuckled and sauntered off towards the back yard.  
  
"Just like her mother, it's scary sometimes." Michael commented. "So you guys decided to show. I was worried this crew scared you all off. Most of them are getting ready to leave."  
  
"Oh?" Darien asked eyebrows lifting.  
  
"Most of the older kids are going with Jake and Rachel to a clambake down at the beach. Patrick and Lisa are taking the rest out for pizza and a movie. We'll have the place to ourselves within half an hour," Michael answered as he led them out to the deck and fetched them beers from the cooler set behind the wet bar. "Sit. Drink. Enjoy the remains of the day."  
  
Michele looked up from where she'd been sitting and reading in the shade of the gazebo to see her brother get his two friends settled up on the deck with drinks and snacks . She had hoped that it had been a fluke last night. That whatever it was she thought she'd felt for Mr. Fawkes had been her imagination, sheer foolishness, caused by her meds. Anything else, but the instant she saw him she knew it was real. Whatever else was going on in her idiot head, she was apparently falling for this near-total stranger.  
  
With a sigh, she returned her concentration to her book. Her brothers had volunteered to handle all the kids this evening and she was going to take advantage of it while she could. She sipped at her drink, one of her margaritas, and hoped the alcohol would work its magic on her headache. She could hear her brother Michael and the other two men talking quietly and she pushed the sound into the background and she tried to focus her attention on the book.  
  
She was apparently very successful. "'The Pleasure of Finding Things Out' by Richard Feynman. Please tell me this is not what you read to relax?" a voice said out of the blue.  
  
She looked up, dropping the hand that had been unconsciously rubbing her forehead, to see Darien standing over her. "Actually, Manda recommended it to me. So I thought I'd give it a try. It's interesting." Marking the page she closed the book and set it down on the table beside her. "When did it get dark?"  
  
"Oh, thirty minutes ago," he answered sitting down on the end of her lounge chair hands stuffed into his pockets. He was still thinking about the news Michael had given him and Hobbes over the last couple of hours. He was kind of wishing he hadn't been told, that he could continue on in that blissful ignorance of those who did not need-to-know. The results of her latest tests had come back and things were looking grim. Instead of an estimate of one to two years, she had maybe a few months. Maybe. His decision to stay away after today had been tossed unceremoniously out the window and instead he was unsure what to do.  
  
She looked at him sitting there, hands stuffed into his pockets, slouching over, and looking so unhappy that she couldn't help but react. "Are you okay?" she asked him, as she leaned forward and lay a hand gently on his shoulder.  
  
He actually laughed at her. "I'm fine."  
  
"I'm obviously missing something." Michele shook her head in confusion. "Not unusual around here." She stood up and tried to walk past him, but he stopped her with his hand on her arm. She looked at him expectantly, wondering what was going on with him. "Would you like to go for a walk?"  
  
He was thankful she had asked a question he felt safe answering. "Yes." Leading him back up to the main deck area, she flipped a switch on the underside of one section of the railing and small white lights appeared in the lower branches of all the trees surrounding the yard.  
  
"Christmas lights?" Darien was captured by the subtle beauty they gave the yard, but not all that surprised. She had always liked this type of thing.  
  
"I think they look pretty." She shrugged. "C'mon." Down the stairs, across the yard, and onto one of the pathways he had suspected was out there. The wandered along the edged pathway following the lights that ran along it. It was just bright enough that they could see where they were placing their feet, but not bright enough to ruin their night vision.  
  
"How much land do you own?" Back in San Diego she'd never really mentioned her preference for living space. He was realizing that her apartment must have felt very confining if this was the way she wanted to live. Amongst the open air and trees.  
  
"Oh, twenty acres or so. Most of it's wild, except for the paths. We actually have some deer and hawks out here," she answered. "I always dreamed of a place like this. My grandparents had lots of land, and during the summer we used to go wild at their place. Loved being there at the end of the summer with the wild blueberries and goose berries ripening. Not that where I grew up was small, but we lived there." She glanced over at him as they walked. "If you know what I mean."  
  
"Yeah, I do." He could remember tearing up the woods around the cabin his aunt and uncle would drag them too. It was one of the few places Kevin was just Kevin, his brother, and not Kevin the genius. It didn't last for all that many years as summers eventually became the time when Kev and Uncle Peter would bury themselves in the basement lab to do more experiments that, to Darien, served no purpose except to isolate Kevin from the rest of the world. And isolate himself from his brother.  
  
"So what were the three of you discussing that left you so serious-minded?" Michele wouldn't press, knowing there was a good chance he couldn't talk about it, but wanted to make the offer, to help ease the burden he was obviously carrying about.  
  
Darien shook his head; it was not something he could tell her. "How are you feeling tonight?" He'd noticed the drink; and Mike had told him that it was her back-up pain killer. Her way of dulling some of the pain without taking more medication.  
  
"Been better. Been worse. Haven't needed a shot today, so that's on the plus side anyway." She nudged him as they strolled along. "You don't need to dance around it, Mr. Fawkes, I know how ill I am and know it's something more than just the results of the car accident I was in. And it doesn't matter."  
  
"Call me Darien, please. That much formality makes my skin crawl." It also reminded him of prison, which was not an association he wanted to deal with when near her.  
  
" All right, Darien. You may call me Michele, or 'Chele if you like. Though I've been known to answer to the generic 'hey, you' on more than one occasion." She gave him a wry grin. "Between the kids and their friends 'hey, you' is heard quite a bit around here."  
  
"Are you happy, though?" Darien paused and she stopped step or two beyond him and turned back to face him.  
  
It took her moment to organize her thoughts into a coherent answer. "Overall, I guess I am. I'm alive, with family and friends that I care about, but..."  
  
"But?" He spread his arms wide. "What's missing? Your husband?" More than understandable that she would miss him. To come back and then to have him die so soon after... It was amazing she was dealing as well as she was.  
  
"Jess was..." she shook her head, "is a dead issue -- literally. It's weird. For all that I have, there still seems to be something missing, and I have no idea where to even begin to try and find it." She continued down the trail and he followed her after a moment.  
  
The path ended at a small open area that overlooked the ocean. The grass was short and thick, the kind perfect for lying upon on a hot summer day to stare at the clouds drifting by overhead. There was a small cliff into which a set of steps were cut leading down to the water. Off to one side, a pair of oak trees leaned precariously out over the water with an oversized hammock slung between them.  
  
Michele walked to the edge of the cliff and looked down. "Tide's still up, we can't get to the beach."  
  
"Why did you bring me out here?" Darien leaned against a conveniently placed tree and watched her. There was just enough ambient light for him to see her with relative ease. He was betting to her it was bright as day; she'd always had incredible night vision.  
  
"Hmmm. You looked like you needed some peace, and this is where I go to find some. You got bad news, I take it?" She walked over to the hammock and leaned back against one of the trees.  
  
"You could say that I guess." He was avoiding looking at her again, afraid he'd reveal everything. "Shame about the hammock."  
  
"Why? It works fine." Which she proceeded to demonstrate by climbing up the tree and into it. Settling back she hung one leg off the side and, by moving it, could swing the hammock well out over the edge of the cliff and the water that ebbed and surged below. "When we get a really high tide the spray sometimes makes it up here."  
  
Darien walked over and slowed its swaying. The hammock hung at chest level on him at its midpoint. "You are insane."  
  
"Well, yeah. And?" She smiled up at him, her heart contracting painfully tight. Forget falling for this man -- she was gone, much as her brother had accused her of last night. Love at first sight was not something she'd ever thought possible, but meeting Darien had changed her mind. Her throat tight, she said, "C'mon, it's safe. I swear it."  
  
"'Chele..." For an instant he wanted to tell her everything, the entire truth. The Agency, who and what she was, why she was having the headaches. About them, the relationship they'd had. Closing his eyes was the easiest way to keep hers from driving him slowly insane with want and need. They flew open when he felt her hand close about his.  
  
"Well, there appears to be a breeze blowing tonight, though sultry is arguable." That was a mistake, based on the way his face tightened, but she didn't release his hand. "Not feeling as foolish tonight, I take it."  
  
If she only knew how wrong she was. 'I'm only here for a few days,' he failed to say. 'I'm leaving and may never see you again,' he tried to add, without success. 'I've missed you and don't want to lose you again,' he didn't whisper to her. "Perhaps we should just practice for the ravishment then," his mouth said, without direct permission from his brain, and then followed up his words with a kiss.  
  
Michele was stunned for a second -- her words had only been half-serious at most -- her mind telling her she was being a fool, which she studiously ignored and just let herself fall. Her free hand made its way up to curve about his neck and up into the slightly curled hair that was there. She was unable to stifle the moan that escaped as his tongue teased its way into her mouth, much to her pleasure. His free hand sliding across her abdomen to curl about her back and lift her up into a sitting position made her want to melt. It had been such a long time anyone had made her feel like this that it was leaving her shivering and breathless.  
  
Darien forced himself to pull away as that obnoxious tickle of quicksilver reminded him that he didn't dare disappear at the moment. Holding her close he gulped for air and fought for the control she had helped to teach him at one time and that he had chosen not to practice once she had left. 'Chele was tracing the scar under his hair with her fingers as her lips left a heated trail along his throat. It was beginning to seem like she was the one doing the ravishing and not him. When she began to suck gently at the hollow of his throat he groaned and forced his voice to work. "Now I know it's not safe. You're in it."  
  
She pulled away from him. "What? You..." Michele realized he was joking. "Jerk."  
  
He wrapped his arms about her and she allowed herself to be helped out of the hammock and back onto the ground. Cupping her face in his hands he found some of the control he needed and continued with the kiss. They spent long minutes slowly exploring each other with the sound of waves crashing against the rocks just a few feet away from them. When his hands found their way under her shirt to begin a leisurely exploration of her, she tipped her head back and sighed. Opening her eyes she blinked at the stars overhead and it took a moment to realize they were wrong; doubled and slightly blurry to her eyes.  
  
With his fingers making a grand effort at unhooking her bra with one hand she grabbed a handful of his hair and tugged gently till he lifted his lips from her neck to look at her. His hands froze as he stared at her in total disbelief.  
  
Then the pain hit. Sharp, sudden and devastating. She managed a rather pitiful, "Dare?" and folded.  
  
He was so surprised he just barely kept hold of her and went to the ground as she did. "Crap." He'd noticed the way her eyes had gone fully red -- the way his used to during full-blown quicksilver madness -- when she'd encouraged him to lift his head. Now she had a nose bleed as well, and she'd gone very pale. Setting fingers to her throat, he found her pulse -- weak, but there. "All right you, just hold on." Shifting, he lifted her up in his arms, not caring that she was bleeding all over one of his favorite shirts. Following what he hoped was the correct pathway, he headed away from the cliff and towards the house. About halfway back, he was met by Michael, who was running towards them as if his life depended on it.  
  
"What happened?" He had sensed something wrong through the light link he always kept on her, so he also had a very good idea what they had been doing when she'd been struck down.  
  
"She just collapsed. No warning. I barely managed to catch her," Darien explained to Mike as he gave her a quick exam while still in Darien's arms.  
  
"Damn it. It's too soon." Mike led the way back to the house. "Hobbes called for an ambulance, so they should be on their way." Instead of through the house, he led Darien around to the front where Hobbes was waiting for the ambulance to show up. Mike grabbed a chair from the front porch and directed Darien to sit. "Talk to her, see if you can get her to wake up."  
  
Darien didn't know what to say and looked at Hobbes, who was standing nearby. He handed the cell phone to Mike, who began passing on information to whomever was on the other end. It sounded like he might be talking to the Official.  
  
"Not your fault, my friend. And you know it." Hobbes set a hand on Darien's shoulder and looked down at the tiny form in his arms. "She'll be fine, Fawkes. Claire will be here by morning."  
  
"This just sucks." Darien brushed a stray strand of hair off her face and tried to hold it together when she moaned in pain. "Come on, Michele, open those eyes for me."  
  
She did for a moment, allowing him to see they were still solid crimson, then they slid shut again and she went even more limp than before. Something he hadn't thought possible. "Bobby?" He looked at his partner, hoping for some sort of sign, but all that could be seen was the flashing lights of the ambulance changing the color of the trees to red as it rolled down her long driveway.  
  
"I have to go with her." Michael stepped in front of Darien, cutting off his view of the ambulance as it finally arrived. "Will the two of you..."  
  
"We'll stay and explain what happened when the others get back. I'll take care of those other things as well." Hobbes answered before Fawkes could protest.  
  
The EMTs rushed over with a gurney. Darien reluctantly placed her on it and backed away as they went to work on her. "Mike, take care of her."  
  
"Always," Mike told him as he followed his sister into the ambulance. "I'll call as soon as I know anything." Then he was gone, the doors slamming shut and the ambulance roaring away, kicking up dust into the evening air that the lights turned into a red cloud hanging over the peaceful yard.  
  
He and Bobby turned to each other, but said nothing. They both knew how bad waiting could be, both knew it was going to be a very long and sleepless night for all of them.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 


	5. Chapter 5

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Hobbes arrived with Claire at the hospital just before six AM. She gave Darien a wan smile and then ensconced herself in a borrowed office with Michael. Darien had been sitting there on the hard, cheap plastic chair, being ignored by Michael, for over an hour now. He'd given up asking what was going on some time ago, and based on the way the Keep had scooted by, he would get even less information out of her.  
  
When Michele's brothers had returned to the house within an hour of each other, Darien had insisted that they go straight to the hospital. Jacob, Patrick, and Rachel had gone and called every hour to tell them... nothing. They'd only been allowed in to see her once, and that had apparently been it. Even Jacob, trying to pull rank because he was a doctor, failed to persuade Michael.  
  
Darien and Hobbes had somehow, with the help of the older kids and Lisa, kept the little ones calm and got them to bed. Then the four of them -- Hobbes, Darien, Lisa, and Dani -- sat up pacing waiting for news. Jacob, Patrick, and Rachel returned just after four AM, wanting to catch naps and be there when the kids awoke. They'd had no news of value -- Michele was still unconscious, and Michael wasn't giving anything away as to what had happened. Darien could have told them what he knew, but then he would have had to explain everything -- the QSX Project, the Agency, the QS gland -- and he knew better, even if he did think they deserved to know what was going on.  
  
Hobbes had dropped Darien at the hospital and then headed off to meet Claire at the local airport. Every time Michael had wandered out to where Darien could see him, he'd simply shaken his head and kept going.  
  
Hobbes handed him a cup of coffee and sat beside him on the cheap plastic chair. "I hate this. Bad enough you get the crap beat out of you regular-like, but to have the kid out-doing you yet again..." Hobbes trailed off. "This ain't right."  
  
"Tell me about it. Like she hasn't been through enough already. At least she got the chance to be normal again." Darien sipped at the coffee and ran a hand through his hair.  
  
"Fawkes, the Keep is doing her best. That snake on your wrist ain't permanent green for nothing, you know." Hobbes chuckled. "You and the kid are even now -- no time limit for either of you." Then he got this glint of greed in his eyes.  
  
"Don't you even think it, Bobby. You are not going to make her go back. 'Sides, she may not be alive come tomorrow -- remember?" The frown that passed over Hobbes' face almost made Darien regret the comment, except that it was true. Though his partner did have a point -- what couldn't the two of them do now that he no longer had to worry about going quicksilver mad? Never mind the missions they could run -- just the simple, silly fun they could have being able to quicksilver whenever they wished, for as long as they wished.  
  
He shook himself back to reality. What made him think she'd even want to be with him, that make-out session last evening notwithstanding? What made him think she'd be willing to leave her kids, even part-time, to come back to the Agency? What made him think she wouldn't hate all of them once she knew the truth of the situation? Claire wouldn't be here without the Official's knowledge, which meant he'd been watching her all along. Okay, he'd known that -- the Agency had been watching her kids while she'd been working with them, so of course they would continue. They had to, if only to protect them. Hell, Darien knew the housekeeper -- who, according to Mike, was on vacation this week -- worked for the Agency, and was just another line of defense for the entire family. Alyx -- Michele -- had, in many ways, never left the Agency.  
  
"I'm going to go see her." Darien set down the now empty coffee cup and got to his feet, deciding he'd been patient more than long enough.  
  
"I don't think--" Hobbes watched as Darien disappeared. "--that's a good idea. Damn it, Fawkes."  
  
Darien strode down the hall to the room he'd seen Mike go in and out of a couple times, and glanced in the door's window to make sure the room appeared empty before going in. Opening the door only enough to allow himself to slip inside, he checked over the room again. Once satisfied there was no one else there, he grabbed another one of those awful hospital chairs and carried it over to the bed. As he set it down, he let the quicksilver flake away fall to the floor and looked her over.  
  
She lay quietly, so pale the veins stood out dramatically against her skin, her hair a brilliant contrast and looking far too much like blood in the dimly-lit room for his taste; it caused him to shudder in reaction at the imagery that popped into his mind. She was hooked to both EEG and EKG machines. The heart monitor beep was slow, but steady, but the EEG readings meant little to him. It had been a long time since he'd seen her hooked up to one down in the Keep, and he couldn't tell if the flowing lines and numbers were good or bad.  
  
With a soft sigh, he settled into the chair and gently placed his hand over hers, being careful of the IV line in the back of her hand. He was very surprised when her hand shifted and she gripped his tightly.  
  
"Hey," Michele opened her eyes and turned her head slightly to look at him. She wanted to laugh at the surprise on his face, but didn't have the energy to. Her head had gone beyond pain at this point. Whatever they had given her was doing its job and she felt pleasantly numb all over. At another time she might have enjoyed the sensation, but now... Now she simply knew it meant that it was almost over. That they were just trying to keep her as comfortable as possible until the inevitable happened.  
  
"You're awake," Darien said quietly once he found his voice. He wondered how long she'd been lying in here aware and alone. "I'll get Mike." He tried to slip his hand away, but she refused to release him.  
  
"No need. He knows." Her voice sounded far away. "Stay, please."  
  
"Sure. For as long as you want," Darien said, settling back into the chair. Hell, it was the least he could do for her.  
  
"It's bad, isn't it." It was far more a statement than a question.  
  
"I don't really know..." Looking at her, he could tell she knew the truth and just wanted it confirmed; it was a good bet that Mike had refused to tell her. For her own good, Mike'd probably argue, but Michele wasn't a child that needed to be protected. "Yeah, it's bad." Rolling onto her side, she drew their entwined hands up to tuck under her chin and he reached out to trace the outline of her face with his other. When the tears began to fall, he was tempted to join her. "I wish there was something I could do," he whispered to her.  
  
"You did -- are. You think I want to be alone with my thoughts of gloom and doom right now? I need the distraction. And you are a very sweet one." How she was able to meet his eyes she wasn't sure. It was so damn unfair. She finally met someone she could really care about, who didn't freak to learn she was single parent, who looked at her with such trust, such compassion, and right now such worry, and here she was going to drop dead at his feet or something worse.  
  
"'Chele, don't give up yet. Mike and Claire are doing everything they can. I know Claire, she's one smart lady, even if she is blonde." He was relieved to see the slight smile cross her features at his -- intentional -- choice of words. If she wanted a distraction, she'd get one. "You have too many reasons to live: your family, your kids, your two cats, and that mutt..."  
  
"What about you?" she suddenly asked, derailing his train of thought.  
  
"Me? I'm just a friend of Mike's on vacation with bad timing." Darien wasn't about to try and stake a claim in her life, not now.  
  
"Good timing, you mean. If nothing else, I'm glad I got to meet you. To learn that I can..." She paused to choose her words carefully, "Care about someone again."  
  
"Crap, 'Chele, you don't know what you're saying." He couldn't allow himself to listen to this. To her telling him she cared about him, not after all this time and with what he feared was coming. "You care about your kids, your brothers. How could you not; they're great people."  
  
"That's not what I meant and you know it. Of course I love my family, but after Jess, I was afraid... of a lot of things." Michele closed her eyes for a minute, to cut off the view of Darien's eyes, to prevent herself from saying more than she should, more than he wanted to hear right now. "Just... thank you for showing me I don't have to be." She was suddenly exhausted, what little energy she'd been able to muster draining away and leaving her feeling weak.  
  
"'Chele?" When she opened her eyes, he saw they were severely blood-shot again. Whatever they had given to help her must be wearing off. "I'll go get help." This time she didn't argue, just blinked at him and swallowed hard as the tears began to flow again. But he never made it to his feet. The door opened and Claire stepped in with a frown on her face. Darien caught a glimpse of Hobbes outside the door then, once it had closed, saw him watch in the window with a look of worry.  
  
"Darien, this is not the best timing on your part," Claire muttered as she gave Michele a quick exam. "Head hurt?"  
  
"Umm, yes, but the drugs are keeping it distant. Know what I mean?" Michele answered in a soft voice; even talking took way too much of her strength right now. It almost felt as if she was simply draining away, an odd but not entirely unpleasant sensation.  
  
"I understand." Claire nodded and then held up a syringe. "This is something that should help as well." She injected it into the IV line before anyone could protest and then stepped back and waited to see if there was any reaction on the monitors.  
  
The door opened and Mike stepped into the room. "Claire how is she..." He caught sight of Darien with his hand wrapped about Michele's and her curled on her side at him. "Agent Fawkes, it might be better if you were to leave now." Right now Michael's focus was on saving his sister's life; the relationship between them -- what there was to it -- had to be secondary. Hell, the bottom of the list.  
  
"Sod off, Mikey. I want him here," Michele mumbled at him. She had no idea what was in that shot, but it was causing some interesting things to go on in her head.  
  
"'Chele, you don't understand what's going on," Mike said to her moving to her side and resting a hand on her shoulder.  
  
"I'm not stupid, Michael. I can see it on your face, in your eyes. I'm dying." She blinked up at him, finding it difficult to focus. After a moment she gave in and shut her eyes.  
  
"Not if we can help it," Claire argued, but the woman didn't even twitch "Michele, I'm Claire Keeply, I've been assisting your brother on your case, and we might have a solution."  
  
"What are you waiting for then, a sign from above?" Darien snapped at her and felt Michele squeeze his hand.  
  
"Don't. They'll tell in their own time or not at all," Michele said, so softly he could barely hear her.  
  
"'Chele, we need to talk to Darien for a minute. We won't keep him out, I promise." Mike knew if Darien could help to keep her calm, keep her spirits up, and give her some hope, that he would let him stay.  
  
Lifting her hand, Darien gave it a quick kiss and placed it back on the bed. "I'll be back." As he caressed her face, she opened her eyes for a moment to look at him and nodded. Then she closed her eyes and relaxed slightly, almost as if she had drifted off into a light sleep.  
  
Outside, they led Darien to the office they had staked a claim on, picking up Hobbes on the way. "Look, we have an idea that we think will work, but we can't try it for several days." Michael told them as he settled in to the chair behind the desk.  
  
"What exactly is the kid's problem?" Hobbes asked, his tone a combination of irritation and worry. He was beginning to think allowing her to leave the Agency was a stupid idea and the one to blame was her brother -- her Keeper.  
  
"The inhibitor did its job too well." Claire said, dismay evident in her voice. She picked up a folder and began to thumb through it. Pulling out some scans that had been done she hung them up so they could look at them.  
  
"The gland or whatever that produces the quicksilver went dormant, or something like that, didn't it?" Darien guessed. The pretty colored pictures didn't mean a whole lot to him, but even he could see there were major differences between the two sets.  
  
"Close enough," Mike agreed with a sigh. When neither Darien nor Bobby looked satisfied with his answer, he continued. "Look, her system is nothing like yours, in many ways. Your artificial gland produces the quicksilver, and your sweat pores are the means by which it is transferred out of your body, thus allowing you to quicksilver."  
  
Hobbes turned to Darien with a question on his lips. "I'll translate later, Hobbes," Darien muttered to his friend. "I know how I work, but we're supposed to be talking about Alyx... Damn it, Michele."  
  
"Darien, he's trying to explain," Claire interjected as she brushed a section of hair behind her ear.  
  
Waving a hand, Darien signaled for Mike to continue.  
  
"'Chele is different. Her pineal controls the system, but her sweat glands actually produce the quicksilver, along with parts of her lymph system. The Phase II process kicked everything from 'stand-by' mode, where only minimal quicksilver was being produced -- not enough for her to go invisible, but present in her blood and other body fluids -- to 'on', which, among other things, completely messed her system up." Mike got to his feet and began to pace, while running a hand through his hair. "Whatever they did to us altered what our brains and bodies are capable of. I have full QS potential, but I want no part of Phase II, since it would probably boost my other talents as well."  
  
Claire took over then. "The QS inhibitor was designed to reduce the production, much like the one for Darien when he was on it." She gave him a wry smile. He hadn't been on the inhibitor for very long and now would never need it. "The other inhibitor affects her pineal and brain, lowering her neurotransmitters' speed so that her 'extras' can't work, but, as we now know, she can override that under stress. Some of the ability still remains though unconscious and uncontrolled."  
  
"Like when she was a kid," Mike added, pausing his attempt to wear a hole in the rug. "While the first summer was the worst, she always could do little stuff. In truth, I think she blocked the ability to a degree, denied its existence. Unlike me. There are I times I still wish I had been able to help her then, but I was having enough trouble dealing with my own 'extras' coming online.  
  
"The QS inhibitor has almost completely blocked production of the quicksilver. Her levels are lower than those she hit when she was a child and went through puberty. Too low, and even the drug that should stimulate production -- the one your uncle came up with, that we modified a bit -- is becoming ineffective. Mike told me he stopped using the inhibitor a over month ago, in hopes her levels would come back up, but they've continued to drop."  
  
"So, what can you do?" Darien asked as he found the nearest wall to sag back against.  
  
"We're going to try restarting the system, by reintroducing the serum Heilburg developed when this whole thing started," Mike answered. "But by doing so we'll have to explain everything, and we'll have to give her back the memories."  
  
"Why am I betting that part will be simple?" Darien accused. Of course the Official would want a back up plan. Once her children were old enough and out of the house, she could very easily have been persuaded to come back to work -- in theory. Instead, she was crashing, less than two years after she had escaped. Another thought occurred then. "Wait, I seem to recall her kids all have the potential as well. Dani..."  
  
Mike paled and Claire looked uncomfortable. "Dani's powers kicked in just before she turned fourteen. I've been training her. Michele doesn't know."  
  
"Damn it, did the Official have this whole thing planned?" Darien pushed away from the wall to stalk toward Mike. "She ended up as his little breeding project after all."  
  
"Does it matter, right now? If we do nothing she *will* die." Mike shouted at him. "You can't want that to happen, can you?"  
  
"Fawkes, calm down. You know that's how the Fat Man works. Do you really think he wouldn't expect something in return for all the money spent to protect them?" Hobbes moved beside his partner. "She knew this when she was with us and walked into the deal with open eyes."  
  
"Actually, Bobby, her children would be given the choice once they were adults and fully aware of the situation. Even Dani has not been told everything yet. She really does think her mother was in a coma for two years. She knows nothing about the Agency." Claire stepped to Mike's side, to defend him, on this subject.  
  
"Enough! None of this helps the kid," Hobbes barked to forestall any more arguing. "So you give her this Phase II crap again and she wakes up her old self, right?"  
  
"We hope so." Mike rubbed his eyes with one hand. He hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours. "however...."  
  
"I was waiting for that shoe," Darien muttered, and with a groan he sank into the first chair he could find.  
  
"The serum won't be ready for three days," Claire told them softly.  
  
"Without the quicksilver hormone, we don't think she'll survive to tomorrow," Michael added.  
  
"Well, that shoe was just a large as I thought it would be." Darien's hands balled into momentary fists. "Can't you synthesize some of the quicksilver? I know it can be created; the Chinese did it -- poorly, but they did it."  
  
Claire shook her head. "It wouldn't help in her case. Unlike, say, insulin, quicksilver can not be created in a hormonal form -- yet."  
  
"Keep, what about him?" Bobby waved a hand in Darien's direction. "See-thru boy here has more than he needs on a regular basis." Hobbes stated what, to him anyway, was the obvious.  
  
"Bloody hell, Bobby!" Claire dashed forward kissed him right on the mouth, much to everyone else's surprise. "That might just work." She turned to Michael and began a rapid fire discussion that Bobby and Darien understood maybe one word in three of.  
  
"Hobbes, I think you broke them." Darien said watching them in amusement.  
  
"I think I did too. She did kiss me, right? You saw it, right?" Hobbes said, feeling a bit stunned.  
  
"Darien," Michael stepped before them, his look tight. "We can't make you help. So I'm asking. Will you help her?"  
  
"What happens after?"  
  
"If this works, if she survives Phase II again... we don't know yet. The only thing we do know is that she can never use the inhibitor for the quicksilver again. It would kill her," Claire answered with uncommon honesty. "I just want to get her through this first; the rest will wait."  
  
Hobbes spoke up next. "If you don't say yes, Fawkes, I'll make you do it at gunpoint."  
  
"I didn't know you cared so much, Hobbesy," Darien teased.  
  
"Fawkes, the kid may have been annoying at times, but she was and is my partner, and Bobby Hobbes don't bail on his partners." He shook his head, as if surprised Darien hadn't figured this out by now.  
  
With a grin for Hobbes, to show he understood, he turned to the Keepers. "What do you need me to do?"  
  
  
  
Darien was once again sitting in the chair next to Michele's bed, with her hand in his. He hadn't made it back to her as quickly as he'd hoped and didn't want to wake her, if he even could at this point. He'd had the joy of spending several hours playing pincushion, but it was worth it. Claire had him donate three pints of his quicksilver-saturated blood -- two of which they replaced with the regular stuff -- from which they were going to extract the quicksilver hormone and give to Michele in hopes of tiding her over until they had the serum ready to go. That second pint had left him with the need for a nap and the third had put him out cold. And then he'd been half starved by the time he'd woken up.  
  
The fact that he was no longer prone to the quicksilver madness sped the process up a bit. The last time he'd donated blood for Alyx, Claire had been forced to counter the toxin by including low does of counteragent, which Alyx had not reacted well to. Luckily she'd been unconscious through the entire thing that time and had never even known there had been a problem. It had been a near thing though. This one was looking to be even closer.  
  
Both Claire and Michael carefully watched her vitals as the serum dripped in a steady stream into her. She gave Darien an encouraging smile and he tried to smile back, but knew that he'd failed and gave it up. He'd smile when this was over, if at all. He gave Michele's hand a gentle squeeze. When she squeezed back he was encouraged, but her grip continued to tighten until it was nearly painful. The beeping of the heart monitor became irregular, speeding up and then skipping beats.  
  
He heard Claire whisper, "C'mon Alyx, don't give up now."  
  
Michael adjusted the drip so that it was getting to her system faster, and it seemed to work. After a few tense minutes, her heart rate became more regular and her vise-like grip on his hand loosened. Another hour went by before Claire declared it a success and told Darien to go get some sleep. It was Michael who told him to stay as long as he wished, but admonished him to try and rest.  
  
When Michele awoke several hours later, feeling almost human, she was pleasantly surprised to find Darien asleep in the chair beside her, his hair even more tousled than usual. Her one hand was still in his, so she rolled on her side and, after noticing the bandage in the crook of his arm she curled up and lay watching him. She wondered why he was still here, but was glad he had come back like he'd said he would.  
  
Claire was amused to see Darien dead to the world in one of those horrible plastic hospital chairs as she came in to check on Alyx, who rolled over and sat up slightly, being careful not to disturb Darien. "Alyx, you should be asleep," Claire admonished her.  
  
"My name is Michele. Why do you people keep calling me Alyx?" she asked, extremely suspicious. The story of Mikey having told Darien to use her middle name to piss her off was suddenly far less believable, now that this woman, this complete stranger, was calling her Alyx as well.  
  
Claire didn't look at her, didn't answer, and continued to check the monitors.  
  
"What the hell is going on here?" Michele hissed, her eyes narrowing as Claire straightened and faced her with a cool expression. "Spill, Claire, or whoever you really are."  
  
"Alyx... bloody hell. Michele. I can't tell you. Not now," she kept her voice down, trying to placate the woman.  
  
"If you say it's classified, I'll scream. Thanks to my darling brother, I'm beginning to hate the word 'classified' in ways you cannot imagine," she snarled.  
  
"I know that feeling," Darien muttered from the bedside. Stretching slightly, he sat up, hoping the cramp in his upper back was not as bad as he was afraid it was. He rubbed his thumb along the side of her hand and felt her shiver in reaction.  
  
"Sorry, didn't mean to wake you." Michele turned to him, still angry, but managed to give him a smile. "What time is it, anyway?"  
  
"Little after three PM," Claire answered.  
  
Darien groaned, realizing she had only been out about three hours. "Nice to know you haven't changed."  
  
Michele shot him a glare that meant severe trauma if she didn't soon find out what was going on. "I'm going home." She pulled her hand from his and began removing the various tubes and wires connected to her. Once she was free enough she tossed off the blankets and swung her legs off the bed.  
  
"You can't," Claire and Darien said at practically the same time.  
  
"I am," she snapped. "You're welcome to try and stop me." Michele was more than willing to give this woman an impromptu demonstration of her skills by tossing her across the room. It might even remove the smug look of superiority from her face.  
  
Claire stepped in front of Michele, blocking the exit to the room. Michael opened the door to the room, almost hitting Claire in the back, carrying a duffel bag and which he handed it to Michele. "At least put some clothes on first."  
  
"Michael, she can't leave, it's too dangerous. We don't know how long the effects will last..." Claire stopped when she realized her words were falling on deaf ears.  
  
"I. Am. Going. Home." Michele was careful to enunciate each word so there would be no possible chance of being misunderstood. "If this is temporary, and I suspect it is, I'm not going to spend my time lying in a hospital bed. I'm going to be with my family." She pulled on the clothes her brother had supplied. "You want to baby-sit me, you can do it from there." She peeled off the last of the electrodes from her forehead and pulled her shirt on over head.  
  
Once the shirt was adjusted and tucked in, Claire placed a hand on her arm. "This won't last. You could relapse at any time, and our solution isn't available for a couple days at best."  
  
"All the more reason for me to leave," Michele stated, shrugging off the woman's hold on her arm.  
  
"I swear, you're even more stubborn now," Claire snapped without thinking. Michele glared her, but didn't say a word.  
  
"Keep. Let her go," Darien said softly. Michele glanced over her shoulder at him, standing there, his hair awry, hands stuffed into pockets, pleading puppy-dog eyes aimed at Claire. It worked, and Claire stepped aside allowing Michele to pass.  
  
Feigning a strength she didn't feel, Michele stormed down the hallway to where Hobbes was pretending to read a magazine -- upside down -- and stopped before him. He got to his feet with a questioning look on his face. "Agent Hobbes, would you give me lift home?"  
  
Hobbes looked over her head at the group down the hall that had stepped out of the room behind her, Darien nodded at him.  
  
"Sure, kid. I'd be glad to." He wasn't quite sure what was going on, but with a hand on her back, he did as she had asked him.  
  
  
  
The trio didn't show up at the house for several hours; they had spent most of that time deciding how to proceed. If things went well, the hormone boost they'd given Michele would last the roughly forty-eight hours until the Phase II serum was ready. The fact that she was as well as she was proved out the theory that it was indeed the lack quicksilver hormone doing the damage to her system. They needed to convince her there was a potential solution, but how? They still didn't have clearance from the Official to tell her the truth. And while it was obvious the Official wasn't ready to give up on the investment he had made in Alyx, just based on the fact Claire was here trying to help, it was also obvious no one quite knew how to get around the problem.  
  
Darien had made the comment that maybe this was a case where it would be better to beg forgiveness than ask for permission. In other words, tell her just enough to convince her to go through with the rest of the procedure, and screw the Official. After a bit of argument over exactly what to tell her, they agreed. It looked like the best way to solve the dilemma and maybe save her life.  
  
When they arrived at the house a little after eight, the entire household was up and driving Michele crazy by fussing over her and catering to her every whim, even though she continually insisted she was fine. Claire got them to back off a bit by telling them she had to examine Michele. Claire then studiously ignored the questions from the four adults as to who she was. Michael intervened and gave them just enough information about Claire to shut them up for the moment. Rachel and Lisa hustled the youngest children off to bed, while Michele led the smaller group outside to the gazebo where they could find some peace and quiet for a few minutes.  
  
"I tried to defend her from them, but they're unstoppable," Hobbes commented to Darien as they trailed along behind the other three. "You okay, partner?"  
  
"Yeah, long day is all," Darien answered, leaning against one of the supports for the gazebo. He watched Michele settle onto one of the built-in seats across from him. He tried to give her a smile of encouragement, but her look was blank.  
  
"That it was. She gonna be all right?" Hobbes asked. Michele hadn't known, and he'd been kept on the fringes since he'd returned her home, her family making it clear he was an outsider for the moment, friend of Michael or not.  
  
"Don't know yet; this is temporary." Darien looked at his partner. "We've decided to tell her some of what's going on so that she understands, and no, the Official hasn't said we could."  
  
"Screw the Official. Do what you need to do," Hobbes said emphatically.  
  
"What's going on Michael?" Michele asked him. She was tired of the run-around and the half-explanations that didn't really explain anything.  
  
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "We can only tell you so much right now." He held up his hand when she started to protest. "We're not supposed to tell you anything, so no complaints."  
  
She grumbled a bit but didn't actually argue.  
  
"What if I told you you were never in a coma?" he asked her as he squatted down before her.  
  
"Not in a coma. Uh huh. So I was just at a really long party?" She was really not in the mood for jokes.  
  
"Something like that," Michael answered her. "Look, when we were kids we were part of a government experiment, the end result being that for the two missing years you were part of a secret government agency and after some finagling I got you out." He rubbed his forehead. "There were some conditions that had to be met. That's why you've been so sick lately. We think we've solved the problem, but you'll have to undergo some uncomfortable treatment for it to work."  
  
Michele stared at he brother in complete astonishment, trying not to laugh. "If that's not the lamest story yet to get me to have another test done. Michael, give me a break. Just tell me what's going on instead of feeding me this line of bullshit, would you?"  
  
"Alyx, we're trying to explain." Claire said.  
  
"Why do you keep calling me Alyx?" Michele growled. "It's annoying."  
  
Darien stepped forward until he was standing just behind Michael. "Because it's what we called you when you worked with us. Alyx Silver."  
  
"Worked with you? I just met you two days ago," Michele said in confusion. She closed her eyes and tipped her head and Darien recognized the move for what it was. She was searching through her memory, looking for the connection, for the truth. Her eyes snapped open to focus on her brother. "It wasn't a dream, was it? What did you do to me?" She got to her feet and then stepped back onto the seat, nearly matching Darien in height. "If it was real, then he..." She flung an arm in Darien's direction. "Then I... Bastards!" Then she began to curse them in French. Angry as she could possibly be and not be blowing things up, she slipped over the side of the gazebo and to the lawn below, taking off at a dead run for the woods behind the house.  
  
"That went well, I think," Hobbes commented. "At least she wasn't swearing in Russian or Arabic."  
  
  
  
Michele ran from them, but her energy swiftly ran out and she found herself leaning against a tree, panting and weak-kneed. This just couldn't be happening. They spent all that time saying -- insisting -- it was nothing but some weird dream, and she believed them. She'd let it sink away, let her curiosity go, and now... Now they wanted her to believe it was real, that she was some freak, and that she was dying because of it. That she'd be torn away from her family again, be dragged from her kids and be forced to go through the torture of leaving them again and this time Jess wasn't here to get them through it, this time they'd watch it happen. There had to be another way. There had to be.  
  
Finding some strength, she stumbled further down the pathway, ending up at the little clearing with the hammock. She sank to her knees, feeling utter despair. If she did nothing, she'd die. If she took this ... treatment, and survived, she'd probably be torn away from her kids anyway. She knelt with her face in her hands, wishing that they'd never come here, never given her hope. She probably would have died, but without knowing, without the choices that weren't choices. Without knowing him again. That might be the worst of it, next to her kids. Dangling him in front of her, like some carrot to lure a stubborn ass into movement. Or like a piece of cheese at the end of a maze for a lab rat. No wonder she'd felt the way she had, no wonder she felt a connection and instant trust for him -- some part of her had never forgotten.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 


	6. Chapter 6

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
At Michele's vocal cursing the rest of the household came outside demanding to know what was going on. A great deal of shouting and arguing ensued. It was Rose who finally got everyone to shut up.  
  
"Quiet!" she shouted over everyone else. She might be only eight, but she was practiced at projecting her voice -- had to be in this crowd. "There is nothing we can do for her. No matter how much we may want to, she has to decide what she wants." She walked over to Darien and looked up at him. "But I don't think she should decide alone, do you?"  
  
Darien looked down at the young girl, who probably looked exactly like Michele had at that age. "And what makes you think I can do anything?"  
  
"I told you before that you belong together. That hasn't changed," she answered him, with a challenging look.  
  
Darien heard Michael mutter under his breath, "I've got to get her trained."  
  
"Recognized me, huh?" Darien was only slightly surprised she hadn't mentioned it sooner. She had only been about six at the time, and given how traumatic the experience probably was, it would have been more than understandable if she had forgotten or blocked it from her mind. However, she was making it quite plain that she not only remembered, but knew exactly who he was and what kind of relationship he'd had with her mother.  
  
"Yes, now will you help her?" She stood there hands on hips and tapping one foot in impatience, looking for all the world like her mother in one of her moods.  
  
"For you, of course." He smiled and then took off after Michele.  
  
"What the hell took you so long to do this, Uncle Mike?" Rose rounded on her uncle. She was not going to let him off the hook that easily.  
  
"Rose..." he warned. Whatever else he was going to say was lost in the tumult of questions suddenly flying from the rest of the family, demanding to know what the hell was going on. Michael sighed. This was not going to be easy.  
  
  
  
Darien found her where he expected; after watching her for several minutes, he knelt on the ground beside her and enfolded her in his embrace. She didn't resist, but simply let him hold and support her as she cried herself to exhaustion.  
  
"Is it really that bad?" he asked when she had calmed somewhat.  
  
"I can die or I can be forced to leave my kids again. Yeah, I think it's that bad," she answered, her voice muffled as she was speaking into his chest, either unwilling or unable to move. "Why did you come here? I was over all of it. I was happy."  
  
"I wanted to make sure you were okay. I hadn't planned on meeting you. Just wanted to watch from afar. I'm sorry," Darien said, his hands stroking lightly up and down her back. "I didn't want to disrupt your life." She shook in his hold. "I missed you."  
  
She pushed away from him. "So we were... involved?"  
  
"For a few months, yeah." He shifted to sit on the thick grass and ran a hand through his hair. "We'd been partners and friends for over a year."  
  
"I was Hobbes' partner too, but I wasn't sleeping with him," she snapped in anger. "Let me guess, you wanted to see if I was just as good without my abilities?"  
  
"Alyx, that's low," Darien said, feeling insulted.  
  
"My name is Michele, not Alyx," she growled getting to her feet. "And I am not her."  
  
He knew she was going to bolt, so he got to his feet and went after her. With a hand set lightly on her arm, he held her in place. "That's just it, you are her. You always were."  
  
"Darien, let me go," she pleaded, finding herself unable to move away so long as he was touching her. His presence sent conflicting signals through her. It was almost as if she could feel what he was, and she found it disconcerting.  
  
"No, damn it. Not unless you can tell me you don't care," he snapped at her in frustration. "That you don't feel anything." Then he sighed and released her. "That you can watch me leave with no regrets, because I sure as hell can't, not again."  
  
She stared at him in a stunned silence, forgetting her anger, forgetting everything but him. "I...You know I can't. You knew the moment we met, didn't you?" She didn't move. Stood there frozen, not knowing what to do, what to think. He didn't respond; she had to decide. After several minutes, she slowly moved closer to him, her hands searching for and finding his. "This is so confusing." She was unable to look up at him yet.  
  
"Tell me about it," he muttered, resting his chin atop her head.  
  
"I don't know what to do. I can't just leave. I've rebuilt my life here. The Agency is just a fuzzy memory now. It wouldn't be the same, but I can't imagine the Official doing this without expecting something in return." She rested her forehead against his chest, drinking in his scent, which she now recognized as familiar and comforting. Soaking in the warmth of his body and trying to not let it affect her.  
  
"Worry about the Fat Man later. It's your life that needs saving first," Darien said quietly.  
  
She took a half step back and finally met his eyes. "So you can really... turn invisible?"  
  
"We both can." He nodded "Well, when they fix you, you can."  
  
"Lovely, I'm broken." There was a hint of a smile upon her lips. "Can you show me?"  
  
"You really don't remember." A statement and not a question.  
  
She rolled her eyes at him. "How well do you remember your dreams from a year ago?"  
  
"Point taken." With the fear of the madness gone, he'd taken plenty of time to practice and refine what he was capable of doing, but after considering and rejecting nearly a dozen fancy ways to show her, he decided on simple. Releasing one of her hands, he called on the quicksilver and made the lower half of his arm vanish.  
  
Michele was fascinated. She freed her other hand from his grip and carefully examined the arm. It was as if it was sheathed in malleable ice, but he was still there under the layer of quicksilver. It was interesting how perfectly he was able to control it. His biceps and elbow were still perfectly visible, but from there... nothing. She ran her hands over the unseen portions, uncaring of the effect of the cold on her until she had traced the outline of each of his fingers. Darien had never seen a reaction quite like this. Greed for what he could do, sure. Scientific curiosity. Shock, surprise, even fear. But this... this was more like Adam's response: simple, pure fascination. It made his throat tight. He'd forgotten how she always just accepted things as what they were and no more.  
  
After a few minutes, he allowed it to flake away under her hand, revealing his warm, tanned flesh beneath. "And I can do this," she said.  
  
"Yes. Among other things." He found it hard to speak  
  
"Other things?" She attempted pull up those memories, those dreams, and went through those of them she could 'see.' She saw herself doing things that made no sense whatsoever and she shook her head in confusion. "Damn it. It's too blurry. I can't quite remember."  
  
"Don't worry about it now. You've got a whole passel of people worried about you. How about we let them know you're all right?" Darien leaned down to whisper in her ear in an attempt to get her attention.  
  
"They overwhelm you, don't they?" She opened her eyes and she refocused her attention on him.  
  
"It's more like they surprise me. Hobbes too. You just welcomed us right in without even knowing us. It's not what I'm used to," Darien answered her honestly. For even one person to be that accepting was a rarity; an entire family had to be a complete fluke of nature.  
  
"It took me a while to get used to again. Jess was completely different." She took hold of his hand and lead the way back towards the house.  
  
"I'm sorry. That you lost him. He was part of why you came back." He gripped her hand a bit tighter.  
  
She actually laughed. "Not likely. For the kids, yes. For Jess? Not unless I was a complete fool." She stopped him. "Did anyone tell you how he died?" When he shook his head, she continued. "He was an abusive bastard, and one night Rose said something he didn't like. For the first and only time, he went after her. I got between them, and got myself one hell of a black eye for it, but I bloodied his nose in return. He stormed out of the house." Her eyes narrowed as she watched his reactions. "He drove through a red light and into a truck and killed himself. There is no way in hell I came back for Jess."  
  
Darien stared at her in shock. He never would have guessed... but her words suddenly explained a lot of little things that had happened in the first few months they had known each other. Until now, he'd never put it together, and he should have. Especially after meeting Father Tom again. He, of all people, should have.  
  
The anger that surged to the surface was expected, but completely unnecessary and useless. The man was dead. His look calm and composed, he said, "Nice guy, wish I could have met him and given him a piece of my mind."  
  
"My hero." Michele gave him a sad smile. "If you thought I left you for Jess... I didn't, I can promise you that much."  
  
He shook his head, not sure that it mattered at this point. They walked along in silence, each trying to deal with the information that had come to light -- was still coming to light -- over the last couple of days. When the pathway opened back out onto the yard, she stopped, not wanting to face her family quite yet.  
  
"What?" Darien asked her softly.  
  
"What happens now?" Michele wasn't all that sure she wanted to know. Didn't want to find out they had everything planned out, including whatever remained of her life. She may have spent most of the day more or less unconscious, but she suddenly felt exhausted.  
  
"Now you get to decide, I guess. They can't force you into anything; neither me nor Hobbes will let them." He rubbed the back of his neck, not quite sure how much to tell her.  
  
"Headaches," she suddenly said. "You used to get really bad headaches." She shook her head in confusion. "I think?"  
  
That decided Darien. "First things first, you need your memory back." She looked at him blankly, like he'd gone a wee bit insane. "Trust me, okay?" When she nodded, he lead her out into the yard. "Michael," he called out. Seconds later Mike, Claire, and Hobbes all appeared. "Give her the memories back. She can't decide till she knows what she's getting into."  
  
"Darien, it's not that simple. I can't just give them back like that." He snapped his fingers.  
  
"Well, you better do something, or in less than two days I'm going be riding to a morgue instead of a hospital. I will not agree to anything till I understand what the hell is going on." She stepped away from Darien and poked her brother in the chest repeatedly until he backed up several steps.  
  
He looked over her head at the Agency personnel, who didn't look the least bit sympathetic.  
  
"You insisted on this option; you get to live with the consequences," Claire said to him.  
  
Hobbes shrugged. "I would suggest you do something. When she gets in a mood...." He let the statement hang and didn't smile at the look of dismay on Mike's face. "What do you think, Fawkes? Throat or groin?"  
  
Darien had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling, and when he did finally speak his tone was bland, bored. "Groin. Easier reach for her. Then the throat. She rarely does things halfway."  
  
"Quite true," Hobbes agreed.  
  
All this banter about her was apparently too much for Michele, who turned around to glare at the two of them. "What the hell was I?"  
  
"All that you could be," Claire added with a smirk.  
  
Darien rolled his eyes. "Big help there, Keepy."  
  
"Mikey..." she snarled as she turned back on her brother. He might stand a foot taller than her, but he knew he'd lose in a straight-on argument, or a fight.  
  
"All right. Before you get even more angry." He closed his eyes for a moment -- this was going to take all of his talents to do correctly. "Pattern."  
  
The word surprised both Bobby and Darien, but Michele went stiff, just like always. "Acknowledged," she said in a flat monotone, then folded. Bobby was the nearest and caught her as she went down. There'd been a time he wouldn't have gotten anywhere near her, unconscious or not, but that time was long past.  
  
"What the hell? I thought she got rid of that?" Darien moved over to Bobby's side and helped get her settled on the ground in Darien's arms. Mike and Claire joined them on the lawn as well, Claire taking one of Michele's wrists into her hand to monitor her pulse. Thankfully it was a beautiful night; there were no concerns about storms, or even overeager insects.  
  
"She did, Darien, but the template was still in her mind and it was convenient for this. We couldn't actually erase all her memories, so we created a wall she couldn't get through for those two years. A glass wall, as it turned out." Claire nodded at Mike, who had shifted to lay on hand on Michele's forehead. "Mike's extra talents are what allowed it to work as well as it did. So he has to undo it."  
  
"Keep, what about the ..." Hobbes circled one finger beside his temple. "The wacko routine she was doing."  
  
"Mike will make sure she still has a stable base to build on, but she won't be exactly the same. She might very well hate all of us for doing this." Claire had feared it would come to this once Michele had begun to show symptoms, but she had shared all her knowledge with Mike to hold it off as long as possible. The faint hope that she would get past this on her own had never been very high. If they had known more about her, about her system, about how she was created, they might have been able to do more. The data Michael had retrieved from some unknown source had helped, but had not been enough to do more than extend her time a bit. Once she began building a tolerance to the stimulant, the end was inevitable.  
  
Darien tore his gaze from Michele to face the blue eyes of his Keeper. "Claire, I..."  
  
Michael moved his hand and settled back on the ground with a groan. He looked tired and sagged back with his eyes closed for a moment.  
  
"Mike?" Claire asked in concern.  
  
"Everything's fine. I set everything up so she can access the memories, but so she won't be flooded all at once." Mike opened his eyes and stretched. He was working on a headache and needed to sleep. What he'd done took a lot of work, even if it didn't appear that way. Michele was very resistant to having her mind played with after everything that had been done. Hopefully she'd come out of this intact, stable persona-wise, and rational.  
  
"Why isn't she waking up?" Hobbes asked, unable to keep the concern from his voice.  
  
"She has a lot of info to process; she should sleep for several hours." Mike got slowly to his feet. "She needs the sleep anyway. You can take her up to her bed."  
  
With Bobby and Claire helping, Darien got to his feet with Michele in his arms. "She won't be alone?"  
  
"No Darien, someone will be watching her, but she'll be fine," Claire answered as they walked slowly back to the house.  
  
"This wasn't supposed to be her life, Claire." Darien was careful as the mounted the steps to the deck.  
  
It was Michael who answered. "Yes, it was, Darien. And that's the true irony of the whole situation."  
  
  
  
Michele lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to let the images -- the memories -- sink away, without success. When they had been nothing but a dream, it had been interesting, fun even, but now... now she was faced with the task of explaining to her family that 'oh, by the way, I wasn't in a coma. I was working for a super-secret government agency, who just happened to give me super powers.' How the hell was she supposed to tell her family that? And now Michael and Claire were expecting her to make a life-or-death decision, when she couldn't even be entirely sure who, or what, she was.  
  
She *knew* those memories were real now. She could flip through her mind and pick and choose any event, large or small, happy or hurtful, dreary or dangerous, and relive it the way only her mind allowed. What had woken her up was remembering her last couple of months at the Agency. Things had been going so damn well -- the inhibitor she and Claire had come up with appeared to be working as it should, she had gotten access to her files from the six months she'd been at the lab to do some research -- and then Heilburg and de Fohn had stepped in and screwed everything up.  
  
She'd been happy with her work, and with her relationships. The friends she'd made, the things she'd been able to accomplish, the life she had been living. Living being the key point. When she'd been with Jess, she'd hadn't been living -- she'd been getting by. Not to discount motherhood, or her few remaining friends, but that life had been a pale imitation compared to what she'd done in just over a year while working for the 'Fish. Shoot, she'd even been married to a blinking King at one point, much to her surprise. That part had been fogged quite well, while more dramatic memories had stood out. Being shot -- not once but twice -- the little adventure at sea, the forest fire, Max Garret. So many little things, no few of which involved Darien and his unexpected kindness and patience towards her.  
  
She had gone over her first meeting with Darien, and had been surprised by how strong her feelings had been even back then, even with the way he and the madness had been used to force her into using her abilities, to save him from himself. And she remembered that, in the end, back in the padded room where they had first met, he let her go. Supported her in her decision to leave the Agency for the chance of being with her children again, even though it hurt.  
  
Michele now really believed she could quicksilver, and that her little problem with killing electronics was the minor manifestation of a much greater talent, one which allowed her to do a variety of things. When Mikey opened the door to her memory, it had swung wide; memories hidden from her even before, ones that had been buried at the lab, had also returned, though thankfully without the impact they might once have had.  
  
She shook her head in the darkened room. It would take time to review all of it -- perhaps too much time, since she had not, as yet, come to any sort of a decision. Knowing the past wasn't really making it any easier. Rolling onto her side, she stared out the window. Someone must have left the lights on in the yard; she could still see the soft white glow coming from below. For an instant, she could feel it, too. Could feel everything in the house -- all the power lines, all the people -- and it made her flinch away internally, and do ... something. Something only half remembered, which even she could tell she was way out of practice at. Something she had obviously not bothered going over yet. The memory was not complete, still blurred and fuzzy, and right now she didn't really want to waste the energy.  
  
The headache was already returning, but so far it was a dull ache, nothing compared to the brilliant pain she'd lived with for months now. The soft sound of her door opening made her shift, and she saw Rose tiptoeing into the room.  
  
"You should be asleep, young lady," Michele admonished as the girl sat down on the bed.  
  
"So should you." Rose spoke softly, almost as if she knew Michele was already feeling the effects again.  
  
"Can't see any reason to." Michele sat up against the headboard and rubbed her forehead for a moment. "I remember enough, now. Not that it's helping any."  
  
"We won't let them take you without a fight, not again." Rose made it plain that she knew exactly what she was talking about.  
  
Michele chose to not believe her. "Honey, what are you talking about?" Dragging one of the pillows over, she hugged it to her chest.  
  
The girl raised an eyebrow, in imitation of her mother on numerous occasions, and got to the point. "Mr. Fawkes and Mr. Hobbes are good people. They'd do just about anything for you, and you belong with them just as much as you do with us." She smiled then, a sly smile that suggested she was plotting a bit as well. "I told you two that you belong together a couple years ago. It's still true. Even I can see it whenever you're near each other."  
  
"A couple years ago? Rose?" Michele closed her eyes and searched her newly-revealed memories, until she found the incident her daughter was talking about. "Rose, you weren't supposed to remember any of that."  
  
"Kinda hard to forget being kidnapped by a hulking lunk and then being rescued by an invisible man. And before you get upset, I completely understand why you couldn't tell me the truth that day." Rose set a hand on her mother's arm, hoping to ease the pain and guilt she was betting would be brought to the surface. "Whatever you decide to do, we'll stand behind you. Even if it means fighting the Agency to keep you here."  
  
"You have no idea what you are saying," Michele told her. This child had no idea how low the Official could sink -- or had sunk -- to get who or what he wanted. He'd proven that the first time around.  
  
"Sure I do. Mom, think. You at full power, with no way for him to blackmail you. He has to honor the original agreement. That one stays in effect until I'm eighteen and all of us know what's going on. Currently, only me and Dani do." Rose was hard pressed not to laugh at the stunned look on Michele's face.  
  
"Ah, hell. Did they make me stupid as well?" Michele complained, feeling angry. "How long?"  
  
"Dani, almost two years. Me? The day we were told you were gone. She's much stronger and needed training; my natural shields have been enough so far, though I'm betting after tonight Uncle Mike starts me training as well." Rose laughed softly. "Mom, we hold all the cards, or talents if you prefer. If the Official wants us working for the Agency, he'll have to do it our way."  
  
Michele just looked at her as realization began to sink in. Rose seemed to recognize this and leaned forward to kiss her mother on the forehead. "Worry about this stuff later. I just wanted you to know you don't need to worry about us; Mikey wouldn't dare let anything happen to us after finding out the truth about you." Michele opened her mouth to ask, but the child shook her head. "Not now. I may be a kid, but I am a smart one. Get through this, then ask. Rest. You need it." A quick hug, and then the child trotted out of the room without another word.  
  
Instead of lying back down, Michele climbed off the bed, dragging a blanket with her, and curled up on the window seat, looking out at the backyard. Two of the cats were sprawled on the patio, and Spot, the unoriginally named, solid black mutt, lay on one of the lounge chairs as was often his wont. Just another typical night. In her life anyway.  
  
  
  
Morning the next day, Michele and Michael were in the backyard working out. They'd finished the katas and moved on to a bit of a sparring match. Neither Mike nor Claire had approved of the idea, but Michele had been insistent. He had relented on the condition she go easy today. Michele had agreed, but the 'easy' was turning out to be anything but. For the third time, 'Chele had successfully dumped her brother onto his ass on the ground. This time, though, instead of offering her hand to help him up, she stepped back from him.  
  
"Why did you do it, Mikey?" She returned to the standard defensive posture as he got to his feet. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Darien and Bobby had arrived and had joined the few others who were awake at this hour and wanted to enjoy the morning air.  
  
Michael defended himself against her sudden attack and tried to find out what she was talking about. "What, 'Chele?"  
  
"You just had to interfere, didn't you? As if everything that had already been done wasn't enough. You had to throw in your little changes as well." Her anger had been building for several hours now, and she was thankful she had not only a target, but a valid one. She wasn't pulling her punches any longer and let fly with one that knocked him to the ground again.  
  
"Shit 'Chele," Michael snapped as he watched her back away and signal for him to get to his feet again. Reaching out with his mind, he tried to get an idea of what was going on in her head, concerned this might be some unforeseen side effect of the hormone boost. He encountered a wall. It was shaky, rough, and not nearly sturdy enough to really stop him, but it also was being held in place by her and was not the instinctive one that had been keeping him from garnering all but the subtlest impressions for months now. She'd remembered quite a bit overnight, apparently.  
  
Facing her, he barely had a chance to get settled before she was on him again and he was forced to truly defend himself from a vicious attack. "You couldn't let me do it myself, could you? Oh no, sis had already proven herself too weak, to pliant." She snapped out with a fist that he never had a chance to block and split his lip.  
  
He scrambled backwards as she continued her attack and tirade, only now he had an idea of what she was talking about. "Damn it, 'Chele, at least give me a chance to explain."  
  
She went after him, first with two chops he successfully blocked, then a kick he dodged, though barely. "Is this better? Am I tough enough for you now? Or would this make things more even?" With a lot of concentration and a dramatic increase to her headache, one of the staffs that had been leaning nearby against the deck wobbled and then launched itself into her hand. With a casual looking sweep of the staff, she knocked his feet out from under him.  
  
Mike grunted as his head hit the ground far more solidly this time and he closed his eyes to stop the world from spinning. When he opened them she was standing over him, the staff pressed against his throat. "Is this what you wanted? To know that I'm more than capable of hurting people this easily?" Moving the staff she crouched down and lay it across her thighs. "Why didn't you just let it be? It was -- is -- my godforsaken life."  
  
Mike looked far more stunned than anything else. There were things she wasn't supposed to remember -- ever -- that she obviously had. "'Chele, I had to do something. I couldn't allow you to wait another ten years before finding your courage. You might not have survived it."  
  
"Damn it, Mike." Her anger broke, becoming sadness, despair, and more than a little self-loathing for what she had just done. She could feel the confusion and shock of Darien, Bobby, and Claire as they stood just a few short feet away, prepared to intervene if she became violent again. "I needed to do it myself, Mike. Not Super Me. Just me, Michele. But you went ahead and planted the seed, made sure 'Alyx' was still there in the background. Made sure that if Jess ever really tried to hit me again, it would never land." She shifted to sit on the ground beside him. "Good move, Mike -- he went after the kids instead."  
  
"'Chele, I..."  
  
She found her resolve again. "No, damn it! Don't you get it? I wanted the chance to stand up to the son of a bitch myself, and you took that away from me." She pushed herself to her feet and staggered away a few steps, her head pounding. Not only was she flip-flopping through different emotions, but what little shielding she had been able to erect was collapsing. "Ahh, get out of my head," she hissed between clenched teeth.  
  
Darien was suddenly there to catch her as her legs decided they wanted no part of holding her upright. "Easy, there. Calm down."  
  
The surge of emotion, of thoughts coming off him, made her want to whimper and she tried to flinch away, but he held on.  
  
"The inhibitor is wearing off a bit faster than we planned," Mike said, coming to their side. "Let me try something."  
  
"No," Darien said firmly. "Michele, focus on me. You've done it before. Focus on one thing, then ground and center." He lowered his head until it was alongside hers. "I still trust you. Let me help."  
  
"Dare, I'm so sorry," she mumbled against his shoulder.  
  
"Hush and focus, before your whole family has you in their heads," Darien admonished, with humor in his voice. He knew if he were to get frightened or upset, she would pick it up and it would escalate from there. So he kept himself calm and centered, just as she had taught him...which had turned out to be so very useful over the last year.  
  
She actually managed a pained chuckle before closing her eyes to do as he asked. Even though the 'how' was easy to remember, the actual 'do' was more difficult. She was rusty, even though she'd been still doing the biofeedback and meditation. Shielding took practice and she was definitely out of it.  
  
After several long, breathless minutes, Darien felt her emotions ease from his senses and then vanish altogether as she patched the few holes she found. Shifting away from him, she sighed. "Mikey, I'm so sorry. I ... I don't know why I did that." She couldn't stop the tears, but kept herself in control.  
  
"Michele...." He shook his head. It wasn't important now, and in some ways he knew he deserved it, was to blame for everything. If he had done things differently years ago, none of this might have happened. Then she opened her eyes and Michael groaned. They were already blood-shot, and they couldn't give her anything for either the pain or to help, not at this point. Instead, they were going to have to start a series of shots to prepare her for the Phase II process, and she had yet to say yes. "'Chele...."  
  
"I don't know yet, Mikey. I just don't know." Almost as if they had planned it, Darien and Michele both got to their feet and turned back towards the house.  
  
"Kid...." Bobby set a hand on her arm as they came near him. "Don't let no one force you into a decision," he leaned closer and lowered his voice, " but a whole lot of people would miss you, me at the top of that list." He looked her in the eye, wanting her to know he was very serious.  
  
"Thanks, Bobby." She gave his hand a quick squeeze and then, ignoring every question or look from her family, went inside and up to her room with Darien at her side.  
  
Everyone turned to look at Michael again, making it plain he was not going to get out of telling them this time.  
  
Claire stepped next to Bobby and watched as several adults converged on Mike. "He is in deep, my friend." Bobby grinned and turned to Claire, who wasn't smiling. "Keep, she'll go through with it. She has too damn much to live for." He waved at the group of people on the lawn before them.  
  
"I hope so, Bobby. I hope so." Claire sighed as she leaned on the railing next to him.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 


	7. Chapter 7

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Michele led Darien to the small sitting area off to one side of the bedroom, where the window overlooked the wild growing side yard instead of the carefully manicured lawn in the back. There was a pair of powerful binoculars on the window ledge that she used to find wild animals in the heavy growth. She sank onto the small sofa offset from the window and looked down at the floor. He had backed her over her brother, helped her to regain control herself instead of allowing Mikey to, most likely, impose shields from the outside until she had regained her composure and control. He had known what she needed, had trusted her not to hurt him, had endured her roiling emotions until she had calmed enough to put those shields back in place.  
  
Once again he had managed to surprise her, and it was only last night that she'd truly remembered they'd had a ... a life together. Short as it was, as horribly as she had broken it.  
  
"Darien, I'm so sorry for what I did."  
  
Darien had no idea what she was talking about. He squatted down in front of her and took her hands into his own. "For what? Mike? I agree with you, he deserved it." He was hoping to get her to smile, but failed.  
  
It took her a moment to find her voice, to create the words past a throat gone tight. "Cabo," was all she managed.  
  
"Ah," Darien said. Without releasing her hands, he sat beside her. "I understand to you the... events seem recent, but I forgave you a long time ago."  
  
She shook her head, wanting to explain things, things she'd never really had a chance to talk about after the events themselves. "I swear I was only trying to help you. That sleeping with ... him was simply the quickest way to gain his trust. Okay, not exactly trust, but where women he's involved with are concerned, he seems to have a huge blind spot."  
  
"I know," Darien told her. "The data you got from the Swiss Miss Mother was very helpful to Claire." Even if the fat bastard had apparently tied the Keeper's hands and prevented her from doing anything but the most preliminary study of the data.  
  
"I ..." she was about to apologize again when she noticed the tattoo was still full green. "Did Claire bring counteragent with her?"  
  
"Alyx -- damn, sorry -- Michele, it's been an interesting time since you left." Her fingers were tracing over the snake like had been her habit before. She'd never looked at it as his time limit, it had just been another part of who he was. "About four months ago, Claire corrected the madness. Eliminated it from the gland completely."  
  
Her head snapped up and she stared at him. "Really?" He nodded. "Then why are you still at the Agency? Figured you for a few heists and then the sunny beaches of Cancun. With a pit stop to pound Arnaud back into his component parts."  
  
Darien chuckled; she had known him so well. "Me too, but as long as I have the gland there will always be someone after me. I did leave the Agency for a while, robbed a bank, discovered it wasn't all that much fun without the risk. Joined the FBI for a bit of a lark."  
  
Michele snickered. "The FBI? With Jones? I bet you hated it -- cool glasses aside."  
  
"I did. Without Hobbes and Claire... Hell, I even missed Eberts after a while. The 'Fish may treat me like a trained pet, but at least he knows the pet has a brain. At the FBI they wanted my trick, not me. Any receptacle would have done for them." He shook his head, not sure she'd understand. "Make any sense?"  
  
"Yeah. You changed, Dare. For the better it seems. Shoot, I don't even know if I should call you Dare anymore." She released his hands and sank back against the cushions of the seat, feeling tired.  
  
"You? Yeah, you can call me Dare any time you want. Now, if Monroe called me that, I might have hurt her." When she looked at him in total confusion he grinned. "Later. I promise I'll tell you everything later. There is going to be a later, right?"  
  
Michele met his quiet gaze. "Yes, I'll go through with it. Let them turn me back into..." She wanted to say 'freak', but knew how he felt about that word.  
  
"Into you. Those play-toys of yours don't change who you are inside." This he truly believed. Exactly the same as before? Not likely. Everyone grew and changed -- he certainly had -- but like her, he'd like to think it was for the better. "I'd like the chance to get to know you again."  
  
"Darien, don't be a fool." She took one of his hands and let him feel what she was, let him know that even with the changes she could see and feel in him, that her heart was just as firmly entrenched as it had been when she decided to come back to her kids. Her display had the detrimental effect of using up far more energy than she could afford, and Darien saw it.  
  
"Alyx, thank you." Getting to his feet, he lifted her and carried her to her bed, much as he had the night before. "Rest for a while." He drew a blanket up over her and smoothed her hair back off of her face.  
  
"Stay for a bit, please," she asked softly. "I really don't want to be alone right now."  
  
"Sure." He kicked off his shoes and slid onto the bed as gently as possible. When she curled up against him and sighed, he threw his arms about her and pulled her closer. "I missed you, Alyx."  
  
"I know, and I missed you. I may not have remembered you specifically, but I know I missed you," Michele told him, not even bothering to correct her name. To him she was Alyx Silver, and she was beginning to realize that Alyx was just as much her as Michele ever had been. We are the sum of our experiences, as Darien might say. Hers, much like his, were just a bit more unique than most.  
  
  
  
When Darien came back downstairs, most of the adults were in the kitchen preparing lunch for the crowd. He sank onto one of the deeply cushioned chairs in the family area, which was currently empty of people. He and Alyx had talked for a little while until she had finally drifted off into a light slumber. He was so very thankful she had decided to have the Phase II process done, again. That they might have another chance, even if it was long-distance. Just knowing she was alive would be enough for him at this point.  
  
He had stayed longer than he'd planned, simply because he couldn't convince himself to let her go. It had been such a long time since he'd been able to just hold someone he cared about. Since she'd left, his 'experiences' had been limited to a double-madness lust-fest with Claire, a near miss with a young lady who had picked him up at a newspaper stand, and a close encounter with a Chinese scientist who was trying to run away from her life. He might have gotten lucky that time around, but he'd then reunited her with her fiancŽ and she'd waltzed out of his life without a second thought.  
  
"Hey Fawkes, everything okay?" Hobbes walked into the room and sat down on the nearby sofa.  
  
"I guess. Is it wrong of me to want her to come back?" Darien knew he could talk to Bobby about anything.  
  
"Well, if it is, then we're in the same boat, my friend," Hobbes told him honestly. "It's been one hell of a year, Fawkes, and I'm thinking you both are deserving of some sweet to go with all the bitter." Darien may have gained freedom from the madness, but that had simply made work harder -- his own way or not -- and his enemies even more willing to end his life if it gained them the gland for themselves.  
  
Claire appeared then. "Darien, I hate to be a pest, but..."  
  
"She said yes, she'll do it. Just let her sleep a bit more before you start poking her, Keepy." Darien settled back in the seat a bit more, he'd had a long night and was more than a little tired himself. "Oh, she says thank you, and is more than prepared to chew out the Official for not letting you use the inhibitor after she left."  
  
Claire nodded. That had been one of the worst things about Alyx leaving. The Official had had all the notes for the inhibitor removed, and had taken away the remaining amount -- enough to last four months -- and told Claire to no longer pursue the research. This had inevitably lead to both Darien's tolerance to the counteragent and Claire's decision to eliminate the madness once she knew how. She had yet to regret that decision. "Did you tell her?"  
  
"Yeah, she was a bit surprised I was still working for the 'Fish," Darien answered with a grin.  
  
"I bet. When she left, your number one goal was to get the hell out of there," Bobby said with a chuckle. "You've changed, my friend."  
  
Claire nodded in agreement. "All to the better I think."  
  
"Why is it that she managed to figure that out in two days, and you guys just now mention it?" Darien was only partially serious, but was kind of curious about the answer.  
  
"We figured you knew already, Fawkes." Hobbes got to his feet. "Take a nap, even I can tell you need one."  
  
"I'll check on Alyx, and we'll get the series of shots started in an hour." Claire got to her feet as well. "This will work, Darien. I wouldn't have suggested it otherwise."  
  
"I know Keep, but that doesn't make the waiting any easier." It came out as far more of a mumble than anything else. Sleep was swiftly taking precedence, even though the smells drifting from the kitchen were making his stomach growl. "Now we just have to get the two of you together."  
  
Neither Bobby nor Claire commented, since Darien's eyes had drifted shut.  
  
  
  
As the afternoon wore on, the entire family gathered at the house. Michele's brothers lived reasonably close by and were basically sleeping at home and spending their days at her house, though many of the kids were camping out here, doubled and tripled up in the rooms. Her place had become the centerpiece for this family gathering.  
  
Bobby and Darien tried to stay to the sidelines as the family members attempted to deal with what was going on, but were drawn into the group almost as if everyone sensed there was something more going on than them just being co-workers of Mike's. Michael had, by telling some quick-witted lies, managed to deflect most of the questions about what was going on with Michele, but the truth would have to come out soon. For the adults, at the very least.  
  
Both Jacob and Patrick worked in fields where secrecy was a necessary evil. Though they didn't have the clearance to know, they would still have be told enough for them to understand. Trying to juggle family needs, Michele's personal needs, and the government's rules and regulations was giving Mike a major headache.  
  
Claire had gone back to the hospital to check on the serum, with Dani in tow. Bobby was currently being challenged by Chris at a game of chess, while Darien chatted amiably with Lisa, Manda, and Rose. Overall, the mood was subdued and there was always someone glancing at the house or up at Michele's bedroom window, behind which she was presumably dozing again.  
  
Claire had begun the series of shots she needed to prep her system -- they were trying to do in less than a day what had taken a month of weekly shots the first time around. It could be done this way now, since Michele's system was far closer to the state it needed to be in than when this had been done the first time around. But the side effects were less than pleasant and left Michele feeling achy and tired. So far the hormone treatment was holding up, and she had not progressed beyond the blood-shot eyes and mild headache, but that would not last for much longer.  
  
"What is this? A wake?" Michele stood in the open doorway to the kitchen with a glass of water in her hand. Just about everyone gasped and spun about to stare at her.  
  
"You should be resting. Conserving your energy," Michael admonished from where he sat. He didn't even bother getting up, knowing she was about to get all stubborn at him.  
  
She stuck out her tongue, even as she noticed the swollen lip and bruised cheek from the pounding she'd given him earlier. She was still torn between guilt over the display of anger and the satisfaction of knowing he deserved it. "I should be living while I can. I refused to lie around at the hospital, and I won't do it here." She gave him a wry smile. "Mike, I feel like crap, but it's still better than I've felt in the last couple of months. 'Sides, even I know there are no guarantees."  
  
Turning to her brother Jacob, she asked, "Weren't you supposed to take the kids to Rocky Point today?"  
  
Jacob looked a bit sheepish. "Well yeah, but being here for you is more important."  
  
"Jacob, I love you dearly, but sometimes you are a complete idiot." She walked over and stood behind him. "I don't need or want an audience for this, thank you very much. "Take the kids for their fun." She set the glass down and then placed her hands on his shoulders, his emotions leaking through to her since her shielding was still not all it could be. "This is the easy part. Tomorrow is the real challenge and I don't want the kids here for it. I know mine will understand; you should as well."  
  
"What if something happens, 'Chele?" Jacob tipped his head to look at her. "What if..."  
  
"I'd rather they were out having fun and could remember me like this instead of lying strapped to bed with tubes and wires sticking out of me." She leaned in closer, wrapping her arms about him. "Promise me, Jake."  
  
Michael came over then. "She's right, Jake. There is no reason for you to be here, and an easy dozen why you shouldn't be." Rose was suddenly at Mike's side, nodding in agreement.  
  
"Big surprise you taking her side in this. What is going on? Your friends show up, and 'Chele gets even worse, and it's obvious that something is going on, what with the professional run-around you've been giving all of us." Jacob tried to keep his voice calm, but near the end he was close to shouting.  
  
"Jake, they are my friends, not Mikey's. My partners actually." Michele said sitting next to him. She shook her head "Jake, now is so not the time for this. Take the kids out tomorrow, and whether or not I make it through this, I promise you will be told everything."  
  
"'Chele..." Jacob growled, his temper more than frayed by this point.  
  
"Mikey will tell you everything, Jake, one way or another. Please do this for me." She looked right at him, forcing him to see the blood-swollen veins in her eyes -- her body's reaction to lack of quicksilver, the veins dilating and swelling in a desperate search for what was no longer there.  
  
He had learned not to flinch away, not to comment, not to worry more than was necessary. She was still his little sister, still 'Chele behind the medication, the headaches, and the reddened eyes. "All right, we'll take the kids tomorrow," Jacob acquiesced, shaking his head. Her logic was, as always, her own. "But I expect to find out what the devil is going on soon."  
  
"Thanks." She gave his hand a quick squeeze. "Should I assume leftovers for dinner, since I have enough barbecue packed away to feed an army?" She raised her voice so that the kids down below could hear.  
  
Cheers were her response.  
  
Jacob stood. "We'll handle it," he said, heading inside and dragging his two brothers along. Michael gave her shoulder a quick squeeze before going in to help.  
  
Michele turned her head to see Darien leaning back against the rail of the deck, watching her. Bobby was sitting nearby, now trying figure out how Chris had managed to get him into checkmate without him seeing it coming. Getting to her feet, Michele walked over to Darien and leaned against the railing looking out over the yard. She was almost completely tongue-tied now that she was beside him. The thrill that had shot through her upon their first meeting was nothing compared to what she was feeling right now. It was little wonder she'd been so attracted to him, so foolishly brave that first night. Her mind might have forgotten, but her heart hadn't. Her heart, which was suddenly pounding. She sighed and closed her eyes for a moment to just feel. To feel his presence wash across her senses.  
  
Darien stood there, arms crossed at his chest, as she came to rest beside him with her arm pressed lightly against his side. He had an easy dozen things he wanted to say, but none made it past his lips. He refused to even turn and look at her and settled for the little of her could see in his peripheral vision. Mainly that hair. Those flaming red tresses had haunted his nights for a long time, though they came in second to her eyes. Those silver eyes of hers were something he would never forget, no matter how hard he tried. And he had tried.  
  
Instead, he watched the people moving about inside the house as they prepared an early dinner. He had to admit that he liked this group of people, and was pleased to see that they at least seemed to reciprocate those feelings. He and Bobby had been approached by each of the adults and several of the kids over the course of the day, to be told that they were more than welcome here. Even if the timing did suck, as one of the kids had put it. No one here cared about his past, or even what he did now. They simply accepted both of them without question, and it felt surprisingly nice. Even his aunt and uncle hadn't been so simply accepting of who he was. Admittedly, he had been a child at the time, but still he'd been expected to meet a certain -- very high, in his opinion -- standard that he had no interest in meeting.  
  
This was what he had always thought a family should be like. Over the last few days, he'd watched these people argue and fight and apologize and just accept each other. No real meanness, no nasty comments, no comparisons between siblings or cousins. Each was accepted on his or her own merits and expected to meet the standards that each had set for themselves. Even if he never saw these people again, he was glad he'd had the chance to experience this kind of family.  
  
Michael came out of the house and walked towards them. Nodding to Darien, he placed a hand on Michele's shoulder and handed her the glass she'd left on the table. "Do you feel up to eating something?"  
  
She made a face and tried to ignore the nausea that suddenly made itself known. "Ah, no." She lifted the glass, almost as if in toast. "This'll do."  
  
"I'm not surprised. Take it easy, okay?" Michael said to her and she nodded in response. Moving away, he hollered for the kids to come and eat. The thundering herd that ensued made her smile. After pausing to talk to Michele and Darien for a moment, Bobby and Chris headed in as well. Though still a bit early for dinner, she knew they would snack and hang out for most of the evening, perhaps watch a movie or two and then head to bed early to meet back here first thing for the drive up to the amusement park.  
  
"Don't stay on my account." Michele found her voice finally, though she still looked out over the yard and not at him. "The food is better the second time around, I promise you."  
  
"I don't doubt it. Why do you think I always let you cook?" He turned to the side to view her in profile.  
  
She grinned. "So that's why you're here. Tired of eating your own cooking and take out." She sipped from her drink in hopes of easing her dry throat.  
  
"Something like that," he said quietly. When it became obvious even to him she was having difficulty talking, he made a suggestion. "Want to take a walk?" He wasn't sure why she suddenly felt so uneasy with him. Maybe... maybe she was embarrassed by the relationship they'd had. Maybe she no longer wanted any part of a man who could spontaneously disappear. It might have only been a few hours since she let him feel that she still cared, but things could have changed. Maybe.  
  
"Walk sounds good, though not too far. I feel like crap." Michele turned to meet his eyes for the moment and once again felt that burst of raw emotion course through her. It was like he was living in the back of her head, a quiet murmur of who he was tickling her awareness. It was both new and familiar, and she was very glad her abilities were not back up to full or the experience might easily overwhelm her. Even with her memories back, she was unsure how she'd dealt with it before. "Darien..."  
  
"Walk, then talk. I have the feeling you want to tell me something." Darien leaned in close enough to catch the citrus scent her shampoo left on her hair. Damn, she was still tempting, still had to do nothing more but just be herself to make him want to be near her. Working with her had always been a balancing act of emotions and needs. To spend an afternoon being shot at, an evening drinking beers with Bobby, and then the night in bed with her was a typical day more often than not towards the end. The adrenaline highs and lows keeping him on his toes and keeping the quicksilver flowing more often than not as well. "Come on." He got her turned around and, with a hand on her back, encouraged her into the movement she seemed to be incapable of on her own.  
  
Once down the short flight of stairs, she led him off to the right and towards the far corner of the yard. An arbor had been erected, with a small pool of water on the far side -- the 'fountain' he'd heard the first evening here -- the water tripping down a series of rock ledges, and surrounded by more of that perfectly-manicured grass. Going to what appeared to be a rock carved into a bench, she opened the seat and removed a couple of oversized cushions that had some relationship to bean bag chairs somewhere in their ancestry. Dropping them carelessly on the ground Michele lowered herself down to one with a sigh. After a moment, Darien folded himself to sit cross-legged on the other.  
  
"Cute trick with the rock."  
  
"Yeah, they'll make anything these days and there is always some schmuck who'll buy it. Myself included." She found herself unable to meet his eyes again and plucked a piece of grass to vent her discomfort on.  
  
"Alyx... Crap," he growled softly in irritation at himself. "What do you want me to call you?"  
  
"Whatever you're comfortable with, and Alyx is looking to be it." Shifting, she lay on her side with fingers trailing in the water. "Did you mean what you said earlier, or were you just being kind to the woman who might die?"  
  
Darien froze for a moment, her question coming from out of nowhere from his perspective. "You'll have to be a bit more specific before I can answer. Don't want to mix up the pity with more important things." He sighed in relief when she smiled at his words, she might very well have been insulted, but the Alyx he knew, the one he remembered, would discern his meaning from the layers of sarcasm and lighthearted banter.  
  
"When you said you missed me and wanted to get to know me again." She turned to face him. "Did you mean that?" She was being very serious, wanted -- needed -- to have an honest answer from him.  
  
"Yeah, I meant it. It's been one hell of a year -- literally, at times. We all missed you. I kept my end of the deal, though, and stayed away." He rubbed his forehead absentmindedly. "I don't think we ever even mentioned you aloud but once or twice. Usually after one too many beers." He caught her look of mixed understanding and hurt. "I... I never expected to see you again. For you to... stumble back into my life, or me into yours for that matter."  
  
"Mike set you up, Dare, probably with Claire's help. They've known this was coming for months, and I bet Charlie made sure he had first dibs on me should I become 'wonder woman' again." She snorted. "Don't need no stinking lasso to tell the truth from a lie."  
  
Darien groaned. "Officialed yet again. Can't say I mind too much this time." She was smiling, which was a nice change from the pain and sadness that had seemed to hover about her for the last day or so. "I stayed away for your sake. You know that, right?" He was more that smart enough to realize she could be used against him if people like Stark found out about her. He was still surprised they'd been so successful at keeping her an unknown for the time she was there. Arnaud had since been otherwise occupied and was now on the run, though the little douche might very well be consolidating power somewhere again.  
  
"I know, and I'm not angry at you, really. I... I would have done the same thing if you had gotten out. It's the only thing you can do." It bothered her that the Official had taken all the work she and Claire had done and just tossed it away. Though with the way things had turned out, it might have been for the best. Without the inhibitor, Darien built up a resistance to the counteragent that much sooner, which, when push came to shove, led Claire to give Darien the shot that killed off the madness in the gland. Freeing him even more than Alyx had been attempting to. Freeing him from the one thing he truly hated about having the gland and about himself. "I guess I want to know how far you want to take this..." she waved her hand at him, "this ... Ah, hell."  
  
"Alyx, I swear, this is the first time I've ever seen you tongue-tied." Darien chuckled, but he was also rather stunned. While she rarely just blurted things out, she had also never been one to beat around the bush. It was an interesting change. "You can tell me anything."  
  
But she couldn't, and she wasn't sure why. Maybe it was that she was afraid his ideal of her would be shattered, that he was being so sweet and kind out of pity, that he was simply taking advantage of their past to get in a little extracurricular activity, but had no real interest in her any longer. That maybe, no matter what she still felt, that it had been too long and they would never be able to find that place they once had had. She argued with herself for few more minutes and then, after taking a deep breath, told her worries to sod off. She let what she was feeling take over and, moving the few short feet that separated them, with only a hint of hesitation, kissed him.  
  
Darien didn't hesitate at all and shifted on the cushion, stretching his legs out, his arms coming up, one hand to bury itself in her hair -- damn, he'd missed playing with her hair -- the other to curl about her back, drawing her closer and supporting her. She had moved to straddle him, her barely noticeable weight settling across his thighs. He let her take the lead, letting her decide where she wanted to go with this ... this... He wasn't sure what 'this' was, but if she wasn't careful with what her hands were doing she'd been getting a chilly surprise.  
  
He moaned softly when she sucked gently on his tongue before releasing his mouth to make her way back towards his ear with soft nips that left him gulping for air and fighting for control.  
  
"I'd like you stay with me tonight," she whispered in his ear. When he tensed, her heart sank and she backed away to look at him. "Wrong thing to say, I'm guessing." She closed her eyes. "You are under no obligation..." She stopped when he placed a finger on her lips.  
  
"Alyx," his voice was tight and his look more than a bit strained as she opened her eyes to gaze at him. He was trying, but her words had tipped the balance and he gave up with a groan of combined irritation and desire. "Ah, crap," he muttered as the quicksilver took over for the moment; he lost a leg and about half his torso.  
  
Michele eyebrows tried to join her hairline, she was so surprised. "I seem to have misinterpreted your, umm ... initial reaction."  
  
"Uh, yeah. I'd say so." He was more than a little chagrined. It wasn't like he could just drape his jacket in front of this. "I'm out of practice."  
  
Her voice dropped, becoming husky. "Dare, you are not the only one out of practice." She found his uncontrolled reaction endearing and more then a little arousing. She could just smell the quicksilver; it was subtle and explained more of why she'd been attracted to him. It was entwined with his own personal scent. Leaning back in she returned to tasting the side of his neck that was still visible.  
  
She set her hand on the bare flesh of his upper arm and he felt that tingle of electricity that he remembered. Then all he could feel was her. It was not as strong as he remembered, but he knew she was not back to full power, the inhibitor still affecting her abilities. Part of him was glad -- any stronger and he'd be swept up in their combined emotional storm and there would be nothing he could do but ride it out. Still, his reaction was to coat the both of them in quicksilver and capture her mouth with his. For the time being he was going to enjoy her. It was the sudden image of a length of metal pipe in his mind that distracted him. "What the hell?" he muttered. Then he groaned as her hands wandered across the front of his slacks to discover the evidence of his arousal.  
  
Michele laughed softly. "Sorry, just this sudden 'man of steel' image in my head." With her hands she made sure he knew exactly what she was talking about and, much to her surprise, the quicksilver suddenly fell away revealing his desire darkened eyes staring right into hers. "Oh," she got out as he reached out to caress her breast.  
  
Darien grinned and shook his head. "I keep telling you, I'm not 'Superman', I'm the Invisible Man. Remember?"  
  
"Not currently, you're not." 'Chele leaned back in, her lips just brushing across his, her hand still pressed against him. "I suppose 'Iron Man' would work instead."  
  
"You can come up with something more original than that," he mumbled against her mouth. Being able to touch her was such a pleasure. What she was doing to him was driving him swiftly over the edge, and if they didn't slow down he didn't think they'd be making it to her bedroom.  
  
"I think you've 'come up' with this one all on your own," she responded and tried not to laugh when he groaned and sagged in her arms. Then she squealed as he flipped her onto her back and began to tickle her.  
  
"Teasing me. Not fair," Darien growled playfully.  
  
"Ah ... Dare. Stop," she begged through the giggles she could not prevent even as she squirmed and tried to get out from under him. He continued the torture for several more minutes, his weight more than enough to hold her under him. She finally regained some sort of control when he paused to get a better hold on her body. She lifted her hips up against his, the roughness of his jeans against the bare skin of her legs below the shorts she wore just another sensation to revel in, her laughter devolving into a moan even as his hands froze in place under her shirt where they rested along her sides. With all the squirming. laughter and hands running along her sides and stomach to make her react, the shirt had ridden up until the underside of her breasts were exposed to the air and warmed by the heat of his body. "Please, Dare," she pleaded, and both knew it was no longer about the tickling.  
  
"Yes." He lowered his lips to hers and the need, the want, the desperate craving they had for each other burned ever brighter even as their movements slowed, drawing it out, making the ache within that they'd both carried around slowly melt away as they found in each other what had been missing.  
  
It was the sudden intrusion of Michael in her mind that stopped them from removing any clothing or baring any more skin than already had been to the late afternoon air. With a growl of frustration, Michele set a hand on the back of Darien's neck and conveyed the need for him to stop, even though she really didn't want him to. Lifting his head from where his lips and tongue had gone 'walkabout' just north of her navel, he gave her a look of heated desire mixed with a touch of confusion. "Coitus interuptus brotherus," she told him in irritation. His reaction was to blink at her twice and then roll off of her and onto the grass, laughing. Michele hit him gently with the back of her hand, pulled down her shirt, and joined the laughter.  
  
  
  
Michael smiled, glad she was as happy as she could be for the moment. He'd hated to interrupt their little tete-a-tete, but Claire needed to talk to her -- as well as give her the next series of shots -- the family was worried, and Hobbes had been about to start a search for them. Mike thought it better to warn her before someone wandered out to find them doing... what he hoped they were doing. Getting past the rather strong emotions was a bit of a challenge, especially since she was still not running at full power, but his own talent was more than enough, if only because they had that 'twin' connection. Normally his range was not that great and often required line of sight unless he was very familiar with the person.  
  
When he started to chuckle, Claire set a hand on his arm, drawing part of his attention back to the here and now.  
  
"Is everything all right?" Claire asked with concern.  
  
"Fine. 'Coitus interuptus brotherus'," he told her with a smile and returned to his discussion with Michele. *Take your time, dear heart, but not too long. I'm quite sure he'll spend the night.*  
  
Claire was confused for a moment, her brow narrowing as she attempted to discern his meaning, and then understanding dawned. "Oh! Well, I can wait a few." It was obvious Mike was gone again and she turned to go inside and get herself something to eat while waiting for Darien and Alyx to rejoin the group.  
  
*Darn tooting he will, and if you ever do that again for anything less than life or death or the coming of Ragnarok, I will hurt you,* Michele warned him with humor. She understood they were all worried about her, and she would much rather Mikey interrupting this way than having, say, Bobby walk upon them in a more revealing situation. *Give us fifteen and we'll come join the crowd for a while.*  
  
*You alright?* he asked gently. He could feel the headache that was pounding through her, making her limbs ache, and that slow debilitating weakness begin to creep up on her. The play had the combined effect of both distracting her from it and making it worse in the end. The increased heart rate caused her to use up the quicksilver hormone faster and reduced her time till the inevitable end.  
  
Somehow she transmitted the sigh mentally. *Insane, I firmly believe. I can't decide whether or not to be angry with you for dragging him into this or if I should thank you.*  
  
*Thank me after tomorrow.* Mike gave her a mental caress of comfort and understanding and then broke the connection. "They'll be back in a bit," he announced to the group, who were pretending to not be waiting for him to tell them what was going on.  
  
"Told ya she was fine," Rose said to Bobby, who shook his head in dismay.  
  
"And I thought one of her was bad enough," Bobby muttered and picked up his beer and downed a long swallow.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 


	8. Chapter 8

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
The sound of her heart beating rhythmically in her chest lulled him into a sense of peace. It had taken time to slow, but enough had passed that it was near the normal steady beat he had become accustomed to. The sweat was drying upon their bodies, causing the air to feel far cooler than it truly was. The sheets were tangled and covered with a dusting of quicksilver that glinted in the light coming in through the window. He had one arm wrapped securely beneath her, his fingers trailing across her bare hip, the other was flung carelessly across her abdomen their hands clasped together atop the sheets, fingers entwined.  
  
For the time being he was unable to truly move. He'd be the first to admit he missed just being able to lie beside her, listening to her breathe, feeling the warmth of her body, the touch of her skin. Part of him wanted assurance that he'd never lose it again. A guarantee that when he crawled into bed after a long day's work that she would be beside him, that it would be her arms to wrap about him, her heart that he'd hear beating through the night. But how?  
  
"Alyx," Darien mumbled, not really wanting to break the peacefulness they were enjoying at the moment, but not yet ready to sleep.  
  
She obviously agreed with that sentiment based on her non answer of "Mmmmm." The fingers of her free hand were playing idly with the slightly curled hairs at the back of his neck, occasionally running upwards along the scar and making him shiver in reaction.  
  
"I missed this," he said a little more clearly and dragged their hands over to kiss her fingers.  
  
She chuckled softly. "Poor boy. Been that long has it?"  
  
"No. Well yeah, but that's not what I meant." Darien turned his head trying not laugh and looked her in the eyes, eyes that were on the verge of being fully crimson they were so blood-shot. He could only imagine how her head was feeling at the moment. "I meant with you."  
  
"Sweet." 'Chele whispered as she closed her eyes for a moment. Her head had begun to really hurt, but she didn't want him to know it. Didn't want to surrender the moment to reality just yet. "But silly of you. Especially given the situation." She tugged playfully on his hair.  
  
"I'm trying to be serious here." He squeezed her hand and lay his head back down. "I don't want you to get away from me again."  
  
Her hand on his neck stilled and he could've swore her heart skipped a beat. "What are you saying?"  
  
"Exactly that. I let you walk away once, and no, I'm not angry about it, but I won't again." He felt her relax ever so slightly beneath him. "I can't."  
  
"Ah, hell, Dare. Some days your timing sucks, you know that?" She sighed deeply and then, with a bit of encouragement, got him to lift his head so she could look at him. "I have to ask you to do something, and you are not going to like it."  
  
"Uh, okay. Not run through the house like this, I hope. I gave up streaking a decade ago." As he hoped, she smiled at him and began to laugh, her entire body shaking with it. Leaning down he kissed her on the forehead, noting she was a touch warmer than she should be.  
  
"No, amusing as that might be ... though I bet I could tempt you into going skinny dipping." She trailed off, the images suddenly filling her mind, making the room far too warm. "Umm, where was I?" While she'd been contemplating the possibilities in the pool, his mouth had been busily making its way down her throat.  
  
"You wanted to ask me something," he answered, as he traced her collar bone with his tongue and teeth.  
  
"Oh, right. Ah, I want you to leave in the morning. Go back to San Diego. I've made all the arrangements, and Bobby'll pick you up first thing." She expected the sudden lack of movement, as well as the sudden burst of anger and hurt that rolled off him.  
  
"I was going to stay, to help you through this." He rolled away, releasing her to ball his hands into fists by his side.  
  
She sat up and untangled the covers and drew them up over them. "I know, and I thank you for wanting to help, but I wasn't kidding when I said I didn't want an audience. If things go wrong, if the worst happens...."  
  
"Don't think that way." Darien snapped at her. "I... I ..."  
  
Michele moved quickly and sat on him, straddled across his abdomen. He found himself looking up at her, her face mere inches above his, with his arms being held over his head by her. "The wounded puppy look won't work, bub. I need to do this. Alone. And I'd much rather you went home, with this as your last memory of me, than ..." She closed her eyes not wanting to say it a second time. Saying it to Jacob had been difficult enough. "Please, Dare."  
  
Instead of answering, or maybe it was his answer, he lifted his head up to meet hers and kissed her. For a moment she remained tense and then she responded, their tongues finding each other and beginning that slow sensuous battle of wills yet again. She relaxed the hold she had on his wrists and he freed himself and moved his hands down to her sides. Her hair fell about them like a curtain, cutting off the view of the rest of the world. When she broke away, she had a slight smile on her face. Now it was his turn to roll and she found herself underneath him, trying not to laugh.  
  
He worked both of her hands over her head and held them in place with only one of his. The other began a leisurely exploration of her body. He took his time, spending long minutes teasing, touching, and tasting her. Listening to her groan and moan and finally plead and beg. When he finally released her hands, no longer able to wait, his need driving him to her, the quicksilver hiding them from any prying eyes, her heat surrounded him and matched his every movement. Her soft cries building to that sweet sound of release he so fondly remembered, he answered her before his own voice was stolen away by more fleshly concerns. "For you, anything."  
  
Then they were swept away, lost on that sea of emotions and reactions that she seemed to broadcast and amplify for the both of them, until neither was quite sure who was reacting to what, whose emotions, moans, sighs, or cries were whose. They simply were, and for the moment it was enough.  
  
  
  
Michele was surprised that she had actually managed to sleep for a short while. When she woke, it was with real regret that she extricated herself from beneath Darien and got out of bed. Her head pounded so viciously that the slightest movement caused pain, and she knew her eyes were full red now even without looking at them in a mirror. She kept telling herself that she only had make it through a few more hours and then she could collapse and suffer in peace. She moved to her window seat, a blanket wrapped about her body, and sat with her legs tucked up against her chest, alternately staring out her window at the night sky and at the bed where Darien still lay fast asleep.  
  
Only her children could have dragged her away from him, and only her children could possibly keep her away. If she survived this, if she woke up with her mind and body intact, she was going to have to make some serious decisions about her life. The Official would do his best to convince her she was obligated to come back and work for him, probably try and convince her to uproot her kids again and move them all out to San Diego where he could 'protect' them better. That wasn't about to happen. Her kids had been through enough upheaval in the last few years; she was not going to add to it. Besides, both Jake and Patrick lived out here now, and once they knew the truth, they would do their damnedest to protect them as well.  
  
Thinking about it, she realized there were quite a few favors she could call in to guarantee their security, and, if she did it right, she would be under no obligation to work for anyone. With a sigh, Michele knew that was a pipe dream. Once she had begun working for the Agency the first time, she'd found herself, not so much enjoying the work, but finding it to be the outlet she needed where her powers were concerned. There had to be a point, a purpose for them to be. Didn't there? She had come to the decision that if she could make the world a better place, if she could help bring peace a bit closer to being a reality, if she could prevent her children from living with some of the fears she had known, then it was worth a little pain, a little heartache, a little less freedom for herself.  
  
The friends she had made in Claire, Bobby, Eberts, and Darien had helped a great deal. Gave her something to treasure, to hold on to, even when the bullets were flying and she felt like there was no hope left. She glanced over at the man currently sprawled across her bed. Darien, most of all, had made it worth it.  
  
When false dawn showed itself in the sky, she carefully got to her feet and shuffled into her bathroom to take a hot shower. Moving as little as possible, while attempting to get clean, she even managed to wash her hair, albeit slowly, and then she just stood, letting the hot water pour over her body. The heat and steam combined to reduce her headache. Or so she thought. At one point she looked down, trying to get the muscles of her neck to relax, only to see blood dripping to the floor of the shower to quickly be washed down the drain.  
  
With a muttered curse her hand went to her face and came away bloody. She could taste it on her lips, smell the hot coppery scent of it as it combined with the heated water. Once again she had a nose bleed, and she knew that signaled the end was near. Feeling more and more frustrated by the moment, she began to swear in a variety of languages, half of which she hadn't remembered knowing just a week ago. She backed across her shower until she ran into the cool tile of the wall and slid down it to sit on the floor. She so did not want to cry, not now, not over this. Her entire family would be up in just a couple of hours and she needed to hold it together until then. She would not let them see her fear, see that she was horribly afraid of what was happening to her, terrified that the peace of the last few months was about to be shattered into a million pieces.  
  
Michele knew that life didn't play fair. Her very existence was living proof of that. And where her life was concerned, it wasn't God out to get her, it was man and all his works. Man's desire to play God, to improve on the design that had worked for thousands of years, had led to her and her family. Her brother Michael was just as affected by their meddling, and her children had inherited several of her more unique traits as well. All four of them could potentially grow up to be even more powerful than she was. Wouldn't the originator of this little experiment be just so pleased to learn that the traits were not only inheritable, but apparently dominant.  
  
She somehow managed to hold back the hysterical laughter that tried to bubble up at that thought. Gathering her wits about her she fumbled around until she found the face cloth and held it to her face, trying to stem the bloody tide flowing down her chin. It seemed to be an eternity, but was surely only a few minutes before the bleeding finally eased and then stopped altogether. By then she had calmed enough to shut off the water and get out to dry and dress.  
  
Not that long after, she was downstairs making breakfast for the crowd that was soon to awaken. None but the most observant would have guessed at the pain she was in. Her smile was bright, even though she hid her eyes behind dark glasses; her crimson and silver view on the world was not one she wanted to share with others, not wanting them to take the sight with them, to leave them with worry and fear, on what was supposed to be a day of fun. Her movements were swift and crisp, though every one caused her to suffer. Her voice was cheerful, greeting each half-asleep person with a smile and her infectious happiness.  
  
  
  
When Darien awoke alone, feeling pleasantly sore in all the right places, his first thoughts involved creative ways of tying Alyx to the bed so that just once he could wake up and still have her beside him. Then he chided himself for those very thoughts. It wasn't her fault her sleep clock was all screwy; the gland that regulated sleep cycles had to share the work with both the quicksilver control and her energy talents. Claire had tried any numbers of methods to get her on a more normal sleep schedule, but in the end had determined that it was impossible. Only complete exhaustion or injury could keep Alyx down for more than four or five hours a night. Alyx had adjusted to the lack of sleep, but Claire had often worried about her because of it.  
  
Near as they could figure, it was, for lack of a better term, normal for someone who could do what she could to sleep so little. They were unable to use him as comparison, because the way the gland in his head and his pineal gland communicated with each other was completely different from her situation and completely unique to him. They each had to suffer in their own ways during the night. He was plagued with sometimes rather disturbing dreams, made even more disturbing by the fact that most of the time they referenced actual events that had yet to occur. She had nightmares, and occasionally replayed memories, which she remembered in each and every gory, pain-filled, and terrifying detail, and unending sleeplessness.  
  
They had both learned to live with it, and with each other's nighttime problems. Heck, in some ways it was easier on each of them to have someone who at least somewhat understood, and with whom they could commiserate when they had a particularly bad night. To tell the nightmare to someone who would understand and help to get past the ordeal that had been placed on the mind or, occasionally, the soul. To be held by caring arms and soothed by a voice that tried to wash away the unreality that made the heart pound and the adrenaline flow. Last night had not been one of the bad ones. When he had finally fallen asleep, he'd been pleasantly exhausted, completely sated, and happier than he'd been in a long time. About the only thing that might have woken him up was Alyx wanting to go another round.  
  
He looked at his wrist and grinned. There were some major benefits to this improved gland of his; he'd used up more than enough quicksilver last night to have hit Stage Four, yet here he was looking at its emerald scales without a care in the world. He'd still prefer not going involuntarily invisible during the heat of the moment, but for the time being he could live with that. And if things went well -- he had to be optimistic or he'd end up worried and depressed in a heartbeat -- he'd get the chance to practice that biofeedback control she'd taught him once before.  
  
Throwing off the covers, he picked up his carelessly strewn clothes from the variety of places they had landed, wandered sleepily into her bathroom, and turned on the shower. He yawned and ran his hand absentmindedly through his hair as he waited for the water to heat up. A cold shower most definitely not what he was in the mood for. Coffee and an acre of food would be a good start. Stepping under the falling water, he tried to wake up, but only a few hours of sleep did little to recharge his naturally lazy disposition. He was also trying not to remember that he had agreed to leave. Bobby would be here within the hour to pick him up, and the two of them would be going straight to the airport to fly back to San Diego.  
  
Dealing with Alyx was never easy, but at least she kept things interesting. Washing quickly, he rinsed, exited the shower, and dried off. He could hear muffled voices from other parts of the house and outside. Dry, he dressed in his clothes from the day before and attempted to convince his hair to do something vaguely resembling normal, but Alyx did not have the necessary collection of hair crap he was used to and he was forced to endure with a look that was far from what he preferred. With her hair styling, gel, mousse, and hair spray would be a hindrance and not a help.  
  
He made his way downstairs and followed the sounds of people to the huge kitchen, where seemingly dozens of people were devouring piles of food. It looked like everyone was gathering here for breakfast before heading out to that amusement park. Alyx took one look at his still somewhat sleepy countenance and handed him a cup of freshly brewed coffee with a smile. But he saw past the smile, unable not to notice the dark glasses covering her eyes, to the slightly pale skin and the tightness around her mouth that told him she was in a lot more pain than she was letting anyone know about.  
  
Darien glanced over at Michael, whose look said that he had a very good idea of how she was feeling, but was going along with her in order to protect the rest of the family. Darien could do no less. No matter how much he wanted to drag her over to a seat, hold her, comfort her, and make her rest, he knew he would not. He'd do as much as he could to help without making it obvious, just as all the adults in the room were doing. Every once in a while Alyx would notice something a bit more obvious that needed doing right now and take over the job, allowing no argument from whomever she was shoving out of the way.  
  
Hobbes showed up with Claire as they were cleaning up from breakfast. This was one of the few things Alyx had no trouble letting others do. Darien even helped by loading the dishwasher while others washed the pans and wiped down the table and counters. Kids were running around trying find all the stuff they wanted or needed for a day at an amusement park. Michele moved out of the kitchen and began making sure everyone had what they needed for the day, including some spending money for her kids. He caught her slipping bills to the other kids as well, and her brothers pretended not to notice, realizing she wanted them to have fun today. Michael went into a huddle with Claire as soon as he was free to. Darien hoped that the heavy-duty briefcase she carried contained the serum they needed for Alyx.  
  
Hobbes came over to him as they both watched the happy chaos swirl about them. "Sleep well?" he asked with a wicked smile.  
  
"Eventually," Darien answered, willing to let his partner distract him for the time being.  
  
Bobby, being exceptionally observant as always, looked at Alyx, who was helping some of the kids get ready to go and said, "Having a tough morning, isn't she?"  
  
"Yeah, though she'd be the last to admit it," Darien agreed. "Got our flight info?" This was the last thing he wanted to discuss, but he knew he'd never talk her into allowing him to stay. This time he'd honor her wishes and leave, but there was no way in hell he was going to forget. No, this time he fully intended to see her again, and he planned on allowing nothing to get in the way of that.  
  
"Yup, the kid there even sprung for first class for us. We're flying back in style, partner. Now, if we could just convince the Fat Man to be this generous." Hobbes was not trying to lessen the severity of the situation, but he did agree that Fawkes would be better off back home than here moping about and worrying. Plus, after a phone call to the little brown-noser Eberts, he knew there were several jobs sitting on the Chief's desk waiting for them to come back. Fawkes might not believe it, but the waiting would be easier with the distraction of work.  
  
The next twenty minutes or so were filled with confusion as a group of about fifteen people attempted to get organized. Alyx got into an argument with her brother Patrick about taking the Hummer. Alyx won by tossing the keys to her daughter Dani and telling her to drive. Patrick acquiesced -- even though Dani did indeed know how to drive the vehicle, she was technically underage. Some days it just didn't pay to argue with 'Chele, and this was one of them. When the entire crew had finally gone -- in three vehicles, including the Hummer driven by Patrick -- it was time for Darien and Bobby to say their good-byes.  
  
Bobby went up to her first. "Hey kid, good to see ya."  
  
"You know it, Bobby. Watch his back for him, would you? Somehow I doubt he does." Michele gave him a quick hug that he returned with feeling, not letting her get away without knowing that he damn well did care about her.  
  
"Always. Take care of yourself and those kids of yours. I'll be expecting to hear from you in a couple of weeks, understand me?" Hobbes ordered just like always.  
  
Michele actually managed a smile. "Promise, Bobby. If I can, I will." Saying good-bye to him was turning out to be far harder than she thought. Having her memories back meant she knew exactly how much she liked and cared for this man, even with the rough beginning to their association. Bobby, the slightly paranoid nut-case that he was, had grown on her, his own loyalty and trust winning her over. She was going to miss him.  
  
"Good enough." He glanced over at his partner, who was busy staring at the ground in apparent total fascination, with his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his jeans. "I'll give you two a minute."  
  
Michele watched him walk over to the rental car and climb in as Darien still looked at the ground, one foot shifting and kicking about the pebbles he came across. "Are you sure you want me to go?" He didn't even lift his head to look at her.  
  
"I'm sure, Darien." She moved closer to him. Close enough that she could look up at him. Removing the glasses, she forced him to see the evidence of how ill she was. "I'll see you in couple of weeks if everything goes well. I promise you that."  
  
And he did see. Her eyes were full crimson, except for the silver pupils, making him want to shudder in reaction. He forced himself to remain still, to not feel pity, to not let the worry crawl to the surface. "Alyx, I don't want to go, but I will. For you." He wrapped his arms about her and held her tightly for a moment. There were so many things he wanted to say, wanted her to know in the event things did not go the way they hoped, but he found himself unable to say a single word. "Crap," he muttered.  
  
"Ah, Dare, I know. You told me everything you needed to last night." Going up on her tiptoes she kissed him lightly -- not a good-bye, but a tentative promise of more. "I promise I'll call you as soon as I can." There were no guarantees, they both new that.  
  
He released her and stepped away slightly to just look at her one last time.  
  
"Go on. You have a plane to catch." She slipped the glasses back on and gave him a shy smile.  
  
"Yeah, I guess you're right." Darien ducked in and kissed her again, this one so she wouldn't forget him this time. One last squeeze of her hand and he turned, walking to where Bobby was waiting at the rental car and never looking back. For good or ill, the time had come, and he was going to keep this promise to her. With Bobby in the driver's seat, they were gone within moments.  
  
Michele walked back into the house to find both Michael and Claire waiting for her. "Please tell me you have it." The pain she was feeling was creeping into her voice as she stopped fighting it, stopped resisting the ache of her head and limbs, the weakness that had been overtaking her all morning long.  
  
"Yes, I brought it," Claire answered, with a mixture of concern and relief in her voice. "You do realize there is only a fifty percent chance this will work. Your body may reject the serum this time."  
  
"I know. I did some calculations of my own. It's really more like a thirty percent chance." Michele spoke in a flat monotone. Turning her head, she attempted to focus on her brother through eyes that had gone blurry with pain. "Mikey, I think I'm going to faint now."  
  
From the moment he'd woken that morning, he'd known how much discomfort she was in and had been able to do nothing for her. Yet he was still caught off guard when she folded right in front of him, barely getting to her in time to prevent her from hitting the floor and causing even more damage. Her mind had gone from stubbornly active to hiding from the pain in an instant. He checked her pulse and found it a bit weak, but still steady.  
  
"She's still with us," he told Claire as he lifted Michele as gently as possible.  
  
"Let's get this over with." Claire led the way downstairs, where they had set up the equipment in the lab the kids used for their school and personal experiments. Claire had more than enough pull to get the equipment she thought they'd need with few if any questions.  
  
Laying her on the bed, they started by giving her a quick examination. Claire really wished they'd been able to get an M.R.I. or CAT scan machine, but they hadn't had time and had been unable to get a hold of a portable one soon enough. She watched the readings come up on the various monitors as they were hooked up and was amazed that the woman was still alive. Whatever fundamental changes had been made to her obviously allowed her to endure conditions that often would kill a normal person. Either that or she was just the most stubborn person on record. Either answer could be correct.  
  
Michael hooked up the I.V. line and then strapped Michele to the bed with padded cuffs as a precaution. He looked down at her, wishing, once again, that things had turned out differently. That he could have prevented this entire mess so that her life would never have become this confused juggling act of opposing necessities. If he had known all those years ago that she was part of that grand plan.... He let that thought drift away. He'd had no way of knowing back then, just been another cog in the wheel and when he had finally learned the truth, he had escaped, had pulled the right strings and blackmailed the right people to get free. To, hopefully, counter their efforts and correct the ones that had already been made. "Ah, 'Chele it could have been so very different."  
  
While Claire went to prepare the first dose of the drug, he gave his sister a mental examination. She was not currently at home, so to speak, her 'self' having run away to hide from the pain that had crowded into her head. Knowing it wouldn't complicate matters the way drugs would, he set up a bit of a pain block, easing some of the tension of her body and swaying some of her readings a little closer to normal. He looked up at Claire when she came over with the syringe of amber liquid.  
  
"Ready?" she asked him.  
  
He only nodded and watched as she injected the contents into the I.V. line. It was done. Now, only time would tell.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 


	9. Chapter 9

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Michael stood looking over the grave site. When all this began a few weeks ago, this was the last place he'd expected to end up. In a few hours he would be flying to San Diego, to give a final report to the Official. Claire had flown back over a week ago, since her skills were no longer needed here and she had a job and a Kept who were both indeed in need of her. So he had been left alone to deal with everything that was left.  
  
In some ways, he felt completely responsible for everything that had happened to her over the years. From the death of their parents, which left her vulnerable to that bastard she had married -- they all should have realized she was still badly hurt over it since she had been a witness to their deaths. He should have been more involved with her life, forced his way in, gotten her out from under Jess' abusive controlling thumb long before, but he'd been too involved with his work. It wasn't till she called him for help that he'd finally really gotten involved, and by then it had been too late.  
  
If he hadn't walked out on her at the lab, had instead stayed and kept them from running those power experiments on her. Or if he had never forced the Official give her the option to come home. Maybe she'd still be trapped working for the government, forced into being someone she wasn't, maybe. Then again, maybe it was always what was meant to be, which is why things had turned out the way they had. Maybe what he had done was meddling, and this had been the only way to put things to right. Maybe that grand plan he'd run from was her destiny, maybe this was always what she was supposed to be, how her life should turn out. He shook his head at himself. He didn't believe in fate, at least not one that didn't require active participation on the part of the person. You make your own fate.  
  
He paused his inward argument and self-imposed guilt and responsibility as 'Chele stood up from setting the flowers at the grave site. She was visiting this place for the first time since the funeral. She had felt the need for some closure with the man whose resting place she stood over. When she had woken two weeks ago from the induced coma, he had sensed the change in her. That change became even more deeply rooted in the weeks that followed as she took the time to retrain herself to use the abilities that had lain dormant for over a year.  
  
He had forgotten exactly how powerful her abilities were at full strength. Her accidental turning on and off of lights and closing the stray door were minor little tricks compared to what she could do. She had completely fried the power in the house twice while trying to regain control. The local electricians were enjoying the windfall of having to replace a fair portion of the wiring, even while scratching their heads as to how it had happened.  
  
He had to shore up her own deteriorated shields until she had once again mastered how to hold them waking or sleeping. Had to run her through all the very most basic training exercises over and over and over until the control was once again hers. It was actually easier this time around -- he wasn't having to fight her, to manipulate, trick, or lie this time. She was more than willing to get to work; her resolve was there this time. She knew this was how it should be, knew that this was part of what had been missing all those long months. This time she hadn't fought for the peace she needed, it was already there.  
  
The real test had been the quicksilver, triggering it the first time, but that turned out to be far easier than either Claire or himself had imagined. Michele still had held a bit of disbelief that she could even do this thing, but with a bit of help from those memories, she was able to trigger the effect with little difficulty, and within days had once again mastered her control of it. For her, controlling the quicksilver was almost as natural as breathing, part of who she was -- always had been in fact -- but, as they now knew, she could and would die without it. Although it was somewhat selfish, he was glad he had been passed over for the Phase II experiment for the QSX program. His own abilities were more than enough to deal with, without also being able to turn invisible at will.  
  
Michele looked over at Michael, giving him a genuine smile, and he was able to truly smile back. She hadn't looked this comfortable in months. She was feeling no pain and had readjusted to her new senses, and it was like the world had regained a color she hadn't known was missing. But now the real work was to begin. Now, she had to go face the Official.  
  
Michele turned from her brother to look back at the gravestone she had placed over her husband, Jess. It was funny -- she had carried guilt all those months because she had thought she had done something wrong in defending her child and herself, but sometime over the last few weeks she had come to realize that she had done the only thing she could do. Jess had controlled her life for so many years because she had seen no reason to control it herself. She had allowed herself to swept up in a tide and be completely washed away by it. Had allowed herself to lose trust in everyone and everything, and he had played on it, had, in many ways, controlled her with it. Kept her under his thumb with it. Until one day she had realized that he was controlling the children as well. It still took her months to screw up her courage to call Mike, and then a lawyer. To begin the potentially dangerous process of leaving her husband. She'd never managed it, though -- the Agency had stepped in and stolen her away.  
  
Even to her mind it sounded weird, but she was thankful that the Agency, with their private agenda, had freed her from Jess, freed her from her, in many ways, self-imposed captivity. Perhaps she had traded it for another form of captivity, but at least she had some say in how her life was run now, some say in who she saw, what she did, and the choices she made. And besides, it was bloody fun at times.  
  
So she said her final good-byes to her husband and turned away, feeling no remorse, no guilt, and no anger, to face her brother and her future with an anticipation she had not experienced in years. She knew that her recovery had not been easy at all; her body had come damn close to rejecting the drugs, and at one point it looked almost as if she was having an allergic reaction to the serum. She had fought her way through, and now she was back to her old self and ready to cause trouble for the Official and the Agency.  
  
Michele joined her brother on the pathway and he threw an arm about her shoulders as they walked back to her car. "Everything all right?"  
  
"I can honestly say for the first time in a very long time, yes, everything is all right." She paused laughing for a moment. "At least until I have little talk with the Official. I don't think he quite knows what he's in for."  
  
Michael joined her in the laughter. "You're right, he has no idea."  
  
  
  
Darien sat on the grass, his knees tucked up to his chest staring out at nothing. Claire had been back two weeks and had been extremely close-mouthed about Alyx, much to his irritation. This time there were no slip-ups, planned or not. In fact, after several repeated attempts to get her to tell him how things had gone, she had point-blank told him to shut up about it. It had the effect of making him feel both angry and guilty. Claire was his friend, and none of this was her fault, but having heard nothing made him worry and conjure up all sorts of awful things that might have happened.  
  
Of course, the fact that when Claire had finally returned he and Bobby and been neck deep in a really nasty kidnapping case hadn't helped matters. The child had been rescued unharmed, for the most part, but the hired thugs who had kidnapped him had been killed or had committed suicide and left them without knowing who the real culprit was. The kid and his family were still in danger, and that didn't sit well with either Darien or Bobby. Neither of them liked loose ends. And these days there always seemed to be a loose end hanging about for them to trip over in the future.  
  
Which is why he was sitting here stewing over Alyx. She was another loose end grating on his already frayed nerves. He had stopped coming out here after the memory RNA incident where Kevin had left him with the gland and the madness, even after pleading with him to help, but after Claire had removed the QSM he'd returned to visiting. To forgive Kevin for leaving again. To admit that Kevin was right -- having the gland had made him a better person. Though there were times the anger returned because there was still no way to remove it and, for all the benefits, for all the good he was doing, for all the happiness he'd found with good friends, he still feared that every day the gland remained part of him the chances of it being removed safely were reduced by that much more. Did he really want to be a ninety year old invisible man? Provided he lived that long, of course.  
  
Who would have thought he'd miss his brother just because he was his brother? For help, for money, for getting the gland out of his head -- those were reasons he'd expect to miss him, not just because he was his brother. Alyx and her family had given him a taste of how siblings could get along, and he wished he'd had that opportunity with Kevin. He had changed a lot in the last few years. At one time his goal was to avoid his brother, or even the mention of his name, at all costs. Now he would take the time to visit his aunt and talk about Kevin and the person he was, trying to learn just a little more about him. One thing he had discovered was that, although their lives had taken very different paths, they had become very similar people in many ways.  
  
Ignoring all the other people wandering about the cemetery on this beautiful evening, he continued the mental musings on his life and the sometimes unfairness of it.  
  
As Alyx -- here she was Alyx; maintaining an identity separate from her family was a necessary evil, she had concluded -- and Bobby approached Kevin Fawkes' grave site, she shook her head at the way her life seemed to wander in tight little circles. Just this morning she'd been standing before a grave across the country. They paused a short distance away and Alyx turned to Bobby.  
  
"Looks like we found him," Bobby said to her. "He's been out here a lot the last few weeks." He'd been both shocked and thrilled when she'd called him earlier to let him know she was fine, in town, and to ask if he had any idea where his wayward partner was. He'd been more than willing to help her find him, and got her to agree to let him take her to lunch tomorrow. They had a lot of catching up to do. Over a year's worth of stories to tell and news to exchange and he was looking forward to telling her all of it.  
  
Alyx watched Darien for a few moments, sitting slumped before his brother's grave, before making any comment. "Thanks for helping me find him, Bobby." She set a hand on his arm and he grinned at her.  
  
"No problem, kid. Glad to help." Bobby knew this was going to be one hell of a surprise for his friend and called out to him in a voice perhaps a bit too loud for the solemnity of the location. "Hey Fawkes, someone's here to see you."  
  
It took a moment for Bobby's voice to register, but when it finally did he turned to see his partner, feeling irritated at being disturbed. About to snap at Bobby, he instead swallowed his words when he noticed Alyx standing there. She was dressed in jeans, t-shirt, and a new black leather jacket, her hands stuffed into the pockets as she waited for him to react. Bobby laid a hand on her shoulder and she turned to smile at him.  
  
"You can thank me later, Fawkes," Bobby commented with a wave before turning to leave the two of them alone. He figured Fawkes would stew and bitch for a few minutes, and then cave. Whistling brightly, he made his way back to where Golda was parked.  
  
Alyx stood there patiently, her head cocked slightly to the side while he watched her. Wondering what was going on inside him, she broke the awkward silence. "I'm only here for a few days. Negotiating with the Fat Man."  
  
He turned to look back out over the grave, not really ignoring her, but finding her way of suddenly reappearing with no warning a little painful. Once again he had been assuming the worst, since no one would tell him anything, and instead everything was just fine.  
  
Alyx could tell he was upset, though she wasn't sure if it was with her or not. She was very careful to not pry, to not take advantage of that connection that still lay between them. Walking softly across the carpet of grass, she lowered herself down next to him, almost but not quite touching. "I missed you." She spoke softly as she looked at the headstone of his brother.  
  
He still sat stiffly, trying not to react to her, but she was a real, warm, living presence sitting beside him. Tried to keep the joy, which wanted to bubble up and escape from him, from doing more than rattle about inside, bouncing off the walls of his heart. He wanted to hold on to the irritation, to be angry at her for not calling. "How long?" he asked, his voice tight.  
  
Alyx knew he wasn't asking about how long she was going to be here; he wanted to know how long she'd been awake. Obviously angry that he hadn't known she was alive and well. "Couple of weeks." One hand came up to rub the side of her face. "I would have contacted you, but I had to get some control back first. The wiring in my house suffered greatly, though I think the local union is quite happy with me." She smiled wryly. "Mike told the Official I was okay, but, from what I understand, he was asked not to inform you because of the case you were on."  
  
Darien just shook his head. So maybe news about her, good or bad, would have been a bit of a distraction... A distraction they could not afford on that case. It had been close enough for that poor kid and his family as it was. "Yeah, it was a bitch, but we wrapped it up days ago. Why wasn't I told?"  
  
"The Official must've been concerned I wasn't going to come back to work for the Agency. Maybe he didn't want to get your hopes up," Alyx mused. Never had she claimed to really understand the man. His real goal was to keep the Agency alive, and with it to protect the country -- from itself if necessary.  
  
"Get my hopes up? Like he gives a damn about my feelings," Darien snorted in derision, his voice low and angry.  
  
"Darien, why did you go back to the Agency? You could have gone anywhere, picked any government agency in just about any country, even run away, just disappeared, yet you went back to the Official." Alyx, knowing Darien the way she did, already had a damn good idea of the answer, but wanted him to remember it as well.  
  
"I... I felt right there. Here. With Bobby, and Claire, and Eberts. Hell, even Monroe. I fit in, not just another small cog in the vast machinery of government service." He had known this, had come to the decision months ago, which is why he was still here even though he could be free from it. He had found a place he belonged.  
  
"If they had told you I was alive, but was not coming back here, ever, what would you have done?" Alyx shifted slightly so she could see his face, and he turned to meet her eyes while contemplating his answer.  
  
"I'm not sure. I would have tried to work something out between us. I meant what I said; I don't want to lose you again." He searched her eyes, finding himself once again falling, lost to the brilliant color and the depths he found to her hidden in them. While he was no longer willing to walk away from the relationships he'd made at the Agency, he was also not willing to lose another woman to the fates. He'd fight to keep all of them in his life.  
  
It was an honest answer, and that was all she needed to hear. "Well, seeing as I currently have no real place to stay in this town, I was wondering if I could crash at your place instead of some luxury suite in a hotel?"  
  
He sat there, pretending to think about his answer, dragging it out for long minutes. "I don't know... I kinda like having the place to myself. I haven't moved, you know, still the same tiny apartment. And I know you can afford the suite with the hot tub and champagne. You might be more comfortable there, instead of cramped at my place."  
  
Alyx moved closer to him and reached out with one hand to run her fingers along his jaw line. "Any chance I could persuade you?"  
  
He did his damnedest not to crack a smile; he wanted to see how far she would take this, how far she would be willing to go to persuade him. "What did you have in mind in the way of persuasion?"  
  
Moving closer, till she was mere centimeters away, she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him. He resisted at first, but she could tell he was doing it just to test her, so she changed tactics and pressed her forehead to his and let him feel how much she had missed him, how sorry she was he hadn't been told she was doing okay, how much she wanted to be with him now and for as long as he would let her.  
  
She found herself pulled down across his lap, his arms wrapped about her, and his lips doing their best to make her melt.  
  
"I take it we have an arrangement?" Alyx asked needlessly when she had a chance to breathe again.  
  
"I'll have to think about it," Darien said, not bothering to hide the smile this time.  
  
"Jerk." Alyx punched him lightly in the arm. Getting to her feet, she offered him a hand to help him up. "C'mon, let's go home."  
  
"Yeah. I think it's about time," Darien said as he got to his feet and looked down at her.  
  
Hand in hand, they walked from the cemetery as the sun finally dipped below the horizon and the first stars of the evening appeared.  
  
  
  
// In the immortal words of my Sunday comic hero Calvin (who also had a feisty tiger of a partner named Hobbes) "That's the difference between me and the rest of the world! Happiness isn't good enough for me! I demand euphoria!" Now, although I admit to at one time emulating this hellion to the best of my ability, I am not quite so greedy. The happiness I had succeeded in finding was good enough for the time being. Euphoria could wait -- for a while. //  
  
  
Finis 


End file.
